And In The Darkness Bind Them
by EpikalStorms
Summary: He's been stuck like this for a couple of beginnings, and so many ends. Millennium have passed by and his age never changes, his skin cannot stay pierced, his body cannot die; thus locking his soul, binding him forever to this existence. This stranger comes into their lives, and they're unprepared for the events that follow after him. Viper is an interesting enigma. Immortal!Harry
1. Chapter 1

_**And in the Darkness Bind Them**_

_**Arc One: Lord of the Rings**_

**Chapter One**

"—and then he just waved me off, as if it was nothing, can you believe that?!"

He sighed, leaning against the bar's counter as he halfheartedly heard the other man blabber on, drunkenly waving his keg of beer in the air to emphasize his words. He heard the guy, honestly, he did—but he wasn't exactly... _listening_ to the words spoken.

It was times like this that he spent the time to think back on his live, how ever long it was, and however longer it will be. He'd been born to a lovely couple, recently married not a year or so before. Life was cheerful, certainly, but it had been during a war. People dying everyday, and a psychotic madman out on the lose. His parents had had themselves practically buried in the battle between the two sides, but they had been determined to take car of him. But, that war; it hadn't been just _any_ war. No, it had been a _magic_ war.

His parents had been pretty high up, in the inner circle of one of the battling sides. They did their best to keep their family, friends, and comrades protected, but nothing would last long enough. They'd lost many—but it wasn't until the couple had been directly targeted had their leader taken extra measures.

His parents and himself—by then, he had been just a little toddler, barely the age of one—were taken to a safe place; a place the enemy did not know of, shouldn't have known of. It was tightly secured, barely even three people knowing it's locations, not including himself and his parents. The magic necessary for the spell to keep them safe, however, needed someone else—a close friend, that would never speak a word of it to anyone. Three men were liable for the position, all of them very close friends with his parents, more particularly his father. One of them was under suspicions, though, due to a rather dangerous condition that was in no way the man's fault. The second man was extremely close to his father; they were practically brothers. And the third, he was the last of their group—a small little guy, perhaps a few screws loose. His parents had wanted to go for the second man, but the guy had suggested another to take his place.

Unfortunately for his parents, and also for him, they chose the wrong man.

For, just a soon as the third man had secured the fact that he was the one keeping his family hidden and safe, that he was the one who knew their location, and no one else, he'd gone straight to the enemy and squealed everything in exchange for his life.

He hated that man, he hated him, he wanted to kill him—but, sadly, for him, the man was dead. Perhaps it was for the better. His destiny was prophesied, it would come to pass no matter what had happened. But he just couldn't give up the thought that, if that man, that supposed close and loyal friend of his parents, hadn't betrayed them—then, maybe, he wouldn't have to suffer as he did. Like this, for the rest of time...

He hadn't been exactly sure how to react, when he found out he couldn't join his loved ones, all of which had already passed on. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure when he'd realized it. Perhaps it had been the day he had officially turned twenty, or maybe even two years later, when he found out that he'd never turned twenty-one. Perhaps it had been the day that the last person he'd ever held relatively close to his heart had passed on, rather gruesomely, for that matter.

Perhaps, even, it had been the day that he had always dreamed would be the end of it all. For the first seventeen years of his, unknown to him, destined to be eternal life, he'd thought he'd go like everyone else. He thought, _believed_, that everyone had to die, sometime, no matter what. That was just how it happened. Death was a part of living, no one could escape it.

Apparently, though, he'd been—_was_—the one exception.

Of course, who had he ever been kidding. His life had _never_ been _normal_. He was _always_ the one exception, _always_ for things that _never_ happened to _anyone_ else. _Anyone_ but _him_. He was _always_ the _special_ one.

He was the one escapee from the clutches of the after life.

He would _never_ _see_ _any_ of his loved ones—past, present, or future—_ever_ again.

And, somehow, he had to be okay with that. Otherwise, he might very well go insane, and he _himself_, his mind, very _soul_—it all, would be lost.

"—know I just wanna—"

"Yes," he interrupted, his smooth voice catching the attention of the man who had been speaking, and even a few who hadn't, at first. They were now, however. That's just what happened when he spoke. People _listened_. It was irritating, especially when you wished not to be noticed the majority of your time. "I'm sure it was a rather terrible experience for you. My condolences."

And he lifted his glass to his lips, taking a sip as the other man nodded so fast he thought the guy's head would topple off and continued to blabber on. "Exactly! You know, I was just thinkin'—"

"Sorry about him," an apologetic voice spoke over the constant noise of the other man, and he turned. The person who spoke was friendly looking enough; sandy-colored hair, soft brown eyes that crinkled at the edges due to constant smiling on the owner's part, peachy-toned skin and dimpled cheeks. "He doesn't really know how to hold his own against the stuff yet."

Ah. So, either the drunken man next to him was new to drinking, or he wasn't very tolerant. "And how long has he been doing this?"

The sandy-haired young man slipped into the seat on his other side, laughing. "A few years, actually."

He smirked into his drink. "I see. So, he isn't a master yet."

"Not really," chuckled the other man, waving over the bartender and ordering himself a glass. As the man nodded and walked away, wiping his hand son his apron, his new companion turned back to him and opened his mouth, showing straight white teeth. "So, what's your name?"

He raised a eyebrow. "Is it not customary, here, to introduce one's self while inquiring the identity of another?" The younger man had the decency to blush. "Ah, right. Sorry." The other reached out a hand, and after a moment, he accepted it.

"I'm Ohmer Swindelund. It's nice to meet you...?" Ohmer grinned.

He sighed. Well, he'd already chastised the man for not giving his own name. He might as well comply. Now, which one would he use this time around...? "My name is Viper."

Ohmer blinked. "Viper? That sounds rather interesting... What language is it in? I know it's not Mannish..."

_Oh_, right. English was now a lost language. He had to stop forgetting things like that. "You're correct. Actually, it's a dead language. You won't find it anywhere."

Ohmer studied him. "Does it mean anything? My parents had told me that my name means "rolling hills of dawn." Is your last name in that language as well?"

"It does," he, Viper, replied thoughtfully, "but I don't think I will tell you. I rather enjoy watching people guess."

Ohmer almost pouted. "Oh." Then he sat up. "But what about—"

"I do not have a last name," Viper told him dismissively—He never had last names, anymore. He watched silently, sipping from his glass, as Ohmer raised an eyebrow at him, before the man was distracted by th arrival of his own drink.

Viper knew that not having a last name, or even any titles attacked to your name, was equivalent to having no true identity at all. As far as he was concerned, he was just one to pass through, sitting on the sidelines and watching the ages pass by, and by, and observing the destruction and birth of civilization after civilization, world after world, planet after planet... millennium after millennium.

He wasn't exactly concerned about being, in the least of sense, practically _nobody_ at all.

Because, honestly, maybe that's all he's ever wanted to be.

Ohmer struck up conversation again after he'd downed his glass, and Viper found himself wondering why he was doing this. He'd always been one to avoid making friends, or even associates. They never lasted long anyway, compared to him, and he hated it—hated the helpless feeling he always felt when they died. Hated the fact that he had to keep his true life, everything that now defined him, a secret from them all, because what else was he suppose to do? Tell them he wasn't able to die? He supposed he could prove it to them—he'd tried most all the possible roads that lead to death, none had worked, on _him_—but he didn't think he could stand to be near them after. They'd stare at him, they'd fear him, they would treat him as, not an equal—sometimes they'd treat him as if he was lower than themselves, sometimes he was treated as if a god(he _hated_ that reaction the most), almost literally _worshiped_—He could never handle it. He could never bear the reaction.

So it was a secret. One told to absolutely, under all circumstances, _no one_.

He'd never even been visited by any higher, celestial being. No one had ever come to him to explain these things, he'd had to learn everything on his own. For the first few eons, centuries, millennium—he'd been lost, so utterly and completely, he hadn't known if he could even bear to walk on his own two legs.

He never wished to return to those times.

"Well," Ohmer sighed, and Viper's attention was back on him. "I think I'm done for the night. I have to head out early anyway, to get home in time for the feast. It's my cousin's birthday, did you know?" No, Viper hadn't known, but he didn't say anything. He only sat there, silent, and let the only slightly wasted young man speak on. "Yes, he's turning twenty-seven. _Hello_, Bree's such a nice, friendly little place, don't you think?"

Bree? Was that the town he was in? He never bothered reading the signs, and he'd helped come up with almost half of the languages used these days—he always did. But, no, the signed always appeared unimportant. It figured—he was never one to try and appreciate his own work.

That's right. Bree. He'd been here before, many times, over the years, centuries. Yes, yes he did like it, in fact. But he didn't say anything.

Viper watched silently as Ohmer stood up, tossed some coins at the bartender, and left the inn, dragging his completely drunk, and unconscious, friend—Viper recognized the man he'd been... listening to, earlier—out of the establishment.

He wondered why the friendly looking sandy-haired young man had even approached him. Most didn't, even the hospitable people of Bree, seeing his dark clothing, fit for stealth, and the black hood he wore to hide his features. His outfit wasn't entirely different from most, really, but it did drive many away, with help of the silent, almost ominous aura that usually surrounded him.

Viper stood up, setting down a small stack of coins on the counter, and strode out of the room, up the stairs to his rented room. The bartender nodded at him as he swept through the door, scooping up the payment as he began to attend to the other customers.

oOoOo

"—_O! The row of silver dishes,_

_and the store of silver spoons!_

_For Sunday there's a special pair,_

_and these they polish up with care,_

_For Sunday afternoons!_"

Well, now. This was interesting.

Viper lounged on a stool at the long, winding counter of the bar, sipping his drink and observing the singing hobbit with half-hidden amusement. The tiny fellow danced up and down the room, but the shadowy man could hear the note of panic in the tune he sang, and Viper wanted to laugh at his expense. He'd seen the whole thing, how the young hobbit's even younger friend—what was his name, Pippin?—went and got himself almost completely wasted—Honestly, Viper had though that gleeful look on the silly little hobbit's was a bit dangerous, when "_It comes in pints?!_"—and had started blurting out all of their life stories. He also found it quite interesting, to hear that Mr. Underhill was indeed _not_ a Mr. Underhill, but a Mr. _Baggins_. Where had he heard that name before?

"_Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:_

_'The white horses of the Moon._

_They neigh and champ their silver bits;  
__But their master's been and drowned his wits,_

_and the Sun'll be rising soon!'"_

Now that he thought about it, that tune sounded a bit familiar. Hadn't he heard some variation of it when he was a child? In kindergarten, hadn't he? It was wonders how history repeated itself. Though, this version of the tune was much more entertaining, especially while sung by drunkards. Viper still wanted to laugh.

Then, he narrowed his eyes. That glint, what was that?

"_The round moon rolled behind the hill"_

It was falling, right there, into the singing hobbit's hand—Mr. Baggins' hand.

"—_as the Sun raised up her head._

_She could hardly believe her fiery eyes;—_"

Time almost seemed to literally slow, and Vipers eyes followed the glinting metal of the thing—a ring, it was a ring—as it fell, down, down—

"_For though it was day, to her surprise—"_

Right onto the hobbit's stubby little finger.

"—_they all went back to bed._"

There was an uproar. Men and the few women that surrounded them in the dimly lit room jumped up, chairs were knocked backwards, people stuttered, yelped, shouted out denials, or surprised exclamations. Viper sat forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees, and kept his hidden eyes narrowed in suspicion as he steepled his fingers thoughtfully.

That ring, it couldn't be what he thought it was, could it? And how on earth did it end up in the hands of this _hobbit_, of all things?

Viper's narrowed eyes opened wide. "Ah," he breathed. Now he remembered. Baggins, that name—wasn't that the family name of—Oh.

Well, it was just his luck, after all.

Honestly, couldn't he get a day of rest?

Viper let out a sigh, and watched as Frodo Baggins appeared underneath a table in the chaos. He slowly made his way over to where the hobbit was hiding, and saw, out of the corner of his eye, another slightly less shady-looking man than he was trying to do that same. Viper smirked.

He arrived at the table and leaned back against it. He swung one foot behind the other, locking it against his ankle, and tilted his head back. "Why do you hide, Frodo Baggins?" He mused, apparently to himself, but he felt the table bounce as someone bumped it from underneath.

He heard the hidden hobbit choke on a breath, and waited as Frodo debated whether to show himself or not. Eventually, curiosity won out, and a young head of curly brown hair made itself known to Viper's field of vision. "Who are you?" Frodo asked him warily, quietly.

Vipe knelt down and looked Frodo in the eyes—though he knew the hobbit couldn't see his, for they were hidden by the shadows of his hood. "Me?" He tilted his head, pointing to himself. "Why, I'm your way out of this mess." He slowly stood up and held out a hand. "Come with me, Frodo. I'll take you to a safer place than here."

Frodo gazed up at him, looking only slightly fearful. Viper was impressed. "What about—what about my friends?"

Viper was reminded of the three other hobbits that had entered the inn while in Frodo's company. "Worry not about them. They will find their own way to you." He eyed the nervous hobbit before him. "Take my _hand_, Mr. Baggins." He said sternly.

The short hobbit blinked one, two three times, and then slowly reached for his hand. Viper glanced at the other man, who had stopped a few feet away from them, hidden by the panic of the crowd around them, and was observing them with eyes narrowed in hostility. Viper bit back a chuckle, and yanked the hobbit after him as soon as their hands had clasped. They left the room, Viper dragging the frightened Frodo along behind him, up the stairs. "This way, Mr. Baggins."

Frodo followed along as best he could while being dragged behind someone bigger than he, and kept silent until Viper entered the hobbits' room. He decided not to tell Frodo how he knew where they were staying, despite the questioning look on the hobbit's face. Once the door was closed, he spun around to face the hobbit. Viper didn't know exactly why he was doing this. Maybe it was because Frodo reminded himself of him, all those _years_, centuries, millennium ago. When he'd had fate resting on his shoulders, a _destiny_. He could tell it was already wearing the hobbit down, and he knew that if Frodo wasn't strong enough to handle this, Middle Earth would fall. Not that he necessarily cared, as Viper had seen many worlds end, but he didn't mind helping out a little. Besides, he'd been bored, lately. It was time for an adventure. Perhaps he could meddle a little and see what would happen. "That Ring, _the_ Ring, you see?" He told him, and Frodo looked up, bewildered. "Now that you've tried it on, he's seen you. You should be careful, even more, from now on out."

Frodo asked him many questions, all in that hurried, quick, slightly panicked tone that he'd used for the song down in the tavern, and Viper gave him sharp, incredibly cryptic answers, until the hobbit threw up his hands in frustration, and Viper grinned in triumph.

The door was wrenched open, and Viper saw the other shady-looking man who's sat in the corner of the bar, and had followed them, slip in, before it closed again. The man glared at him.

Frodo jumped in surprise, and spun to face the stranger. "Who are you?" He yelped, albeit quietly.

"I am called Strider," The man huffed. "A Ranger. And who, might I ask, is he?" The man, named Strider, stabbed a finger in the hooded man's direction.

"That's—" Frodo paused, thoughtfully, then turned to face Viper, "What is your name?" Strider threw up his hands. "By the Valar!" HE cried. "Have you no precautions?!"

"I," Viper leaned back, and the two quieted down and listened. "am Viper."

They stared at him, and Viper raised an unseen brow. "What? That's it," he spread his hands out, then braced them behind his head. "If you want me to give you an occupation, like this fellow here," he nodded in Strider's direction, and the Ranger sniffed. "Well, sorry. I don't really have one. You could safely say that I am _no one_, and you would be mostly correct."

"Shady looking one, you are." Strider sneered, poking him forcefully in the chest, and Viper only grinned. "And you aren't?" He replied, Strider's eyes twitched, and he spun around, facing Frodo once again. Viper assumed that the Ranger had decided to ignore his presence for now. "You!" He cried, eying Frodo. "A little more caution would be right pleasant, if you ask me. That, sir, is no trinket you carry."

Frodo exchanged glances with Viper, not that he met the man's eyes, and stood up defiantly. "IO carry nothing!" He answered.

"Indeed." Strider glared, then walked over to the candle that lay on the sill, before the glass pane of the room's only window. He put the flame out with his fingers, and the three were shrouded in darkness. Viper leaned back to listen. "I can avoid being seen, if I so wish, but to be invisible entirely, that is a rare gift, Mister 'Underhill.'" Frodo jumped away from where he knew the Ranger was. "What do you want?"

Viper took a breath, and the room was light enough for him once more, but only him. He watched Strider tilt his head, and ask the nervous hobbit questionably. "Are you frightened?"

Viper raised an eyebrow. Had the man even needed to ask? Anyone with a brain large than a mustard seed could have told you that yes, Frodo was scared. But the hobbit answered anyway. "Yes."

Strider's expression darkened. "Not nearly frightened enough, I'll say. I know what hunts you, Mister Frodo."

Viper blinked, then brightened. "Oh!" the two turned to him. "Yes," he said, apparently to himself. "Them. I forgot about them. Awfully nasty, those Black Riders." He turned to Frodo, who looked even more nervous. "Black Riders?" He asked Viper, Strider sent a distrustful look in his direction.

"Oh, yes." Viper mused cheerfully. "Wraiths, those things. Their poison is right painful, if you ask me, which you should, since I've felt it before." Then he tilted his head to the door. "Hm?"

Just then, the door burst open, Strider jumped up and unsheathed his sword with a quick hand. Viper chuckled, and Merry, Pippin, and Sam—the other hobbits—stumbled in. Sam, the one in the front, Viper thought, had his fists clenched before him, ready for battle. "Let him go!" He shouted out blindly. "Or I'll have you, Longshanks!"

Viper began to laugh quietly, and the three hobbits paused in confusion. The one holding the brightly lit candle, Pippin, held it higher, and the room was illuminated once again. Viper turned his vision off, as there were no need for it any longer. Strider shot the chuckling man a look, before sheathing his sword once again. "A stout heart you have, young hobbit," he began, and the little ones' attention was focused on him. "But that will not save you," He finished, a little darkly, Viper thought. Strider then turned back to Frodo, who remained frozen, sitting on the bed. "You can no longer wait for the wizard, Mister Frodo. They're coming."

"Who?" Merry asked hesitantly. "Who's coming?"

"The question isn't 'who.'" Viper spoke, and they all turned to him, surprised. Viper grinned, and Strider frowned. "The question, little hobbit, is... '_what_.' The Nazgûl!"

oOoOo

The wizened gatekeeper of Bree shot up as he heard the sound of galloping hooves and screeching. His eyes widened as the approaching forms crashed through his gate, and right up to the inn, the Prancing Pony. Soon after they'd entered screamed could be heard, ad the sounded of metal clashing. The gatekeeper pressed himself back against the wooden boards of his post, shaking in his boots. "Oh dear." He gasped.

The Riders make for the hobbit-sized room. Silently, they raise their swords high above them to plunge into the beds. The swords descend, stabbing at the still forms as the hobbits awake. The Riders pull back the covers and realize they have been attacking stuffed bedclothes and pillows. They scream. Strider watches from the window in his room as the Riders remount their horses. Viper stands next to him, observing silently. "I still think this was a waste of precious time, Ranger. Instead of tricking the things, we should have made haste, to Rivendel. You and the hobbits should be heading there, in any case. The faster w get there, the better."

Strider eyes him, still facing the room the hobbits had occupied earlier. "And you think you will accompany us?"

Viper tilted his head, staring openly at the other man, who shifted under his gaze. "I do not trust you." He finally admitted, and Viper grinned that cheerful smile that showed his sparkling teeth, one that promised pain to any that crossed him. It made the Ranger nervous. "That is well. I do not trust you, either. And the hobbits—well, they do not trust _either_ of us. I suppose it evens out, does it not?"

Strider didn't really have anything to say to that.

Behind them, Frodo sat at the foot of the bed. The rest of the sleeping hobbits, awakened by the Riders' cries—which still echoes through the night, waking up and frightening the inhabitants of Bree—leaned wide-eyed against the headboards. "What are they?" Pippin asked frightfully.

"They were once Men," Viper told the hobbits, almost wistfully. "Great kings of Men, I should say." He tilted his head toward Strider, who looked surprised. "Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of Power." The ranger continued. "Blinded by their greed, they took them without question. One by one falling into darkness."

Viper leaned against the wall that lay to the side of the window as Strider went on. ""Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgûl, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One."

"The One?" Merry inquired, sharing a look with Pippin, and Frodo sat, frozen, eyes widened in realization.

"Yes," Viper told them. "The One. The One Ring." He tilted his hooded face toward the now shaking Frodo. "That... one... ring, Mister Frodo. They will never stop hunting you."

The group sat silently in the room, the hobbits shaking in fear, and Strider with a determined look on his face. Then, Viper grinned. "But that's alright. I like a challenge."

oOoOo

"See this?" Viper held up a envelope. The group was sitting in the tavern, around a table, The other people avoided them, and the tense air that surrounded them. The hobbits all nodded, and Strider narrowed his yes. "This, my little hobbits, is a letter. From a friend." He tilted his head. "Of yours, though. From a wizard."

"Gandalf!" Frodo gasped, and the hobbits all sat straight. Strider frowned at him suspiciously. "And how, pray tell, did you come across such a document?" He asked the grinning man.

Viper shrugged. "Oh, you know, around." He tossed the letter onto the table, and it slid toward Frodo, who grabbed in almost hungrily. The other hobbits gather behind him to peer over his shoulder as he ripped the letter form it's casing. Strider glared, and the hooded man rolled unseen eyes. "Be calmed, Strider. It was lying on the crates in the cellar of this establishment. I had no hand in receiving it."

"He's telling the truth, Mister Strider." Frodo exclaimed, and Strider snapped his head in the hobbit's direction. "Butterbur was suppose to give it to us!"

"The grungy old man..." Sam muttered, and Pippin and Merry exchanged grins.

"Right then," Viper sat back. "We should be leaving now, for Rivendel."

"Rivendel!" Sam brightened, and Strider nodded at him. The hobbit turned to his companions. "Did you hear that? We're going to see the elves!"

Frodo graced his friend with a small smile. "Yeah," he agreed, and nodded at Viper, who grinned once more. "Let's go."

They traveled for a ways, one day passed, then another, Sam tended to the pony carrying their belongings—when Viper had shook his head and told them he carried nothing but the clothes on his back, even Strider looked wide-eyes—and Pippin and Merry kept their spirits high. Viper tended to ignore them, though. They reminded him of two, redheaded twin brothers he had known, long ago...

"What about breakfast?" He heard Pippin say, in response to Strider's order of not resting until nightfall. Viper held in a laugh.

"We've already had it." Strider replied, sounding only slightly confused.

"We've had one, yes," Pippin explained impatiently. "But what about second breakfast?" Strider sent the hobbit a look, and waked away, disappearing into the thicket of bushes ahead of them. Viper smirked, leaning against a tree. He didn't say anything.

"Don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip." Merry said, casting a pitying look in the direction in which the Ranger had vanished. Pippin looked aghast. "What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them doesn't he?"

Merry sighed sorrowfully. "I wouldn't count on it." And the two friends shared a moment of silence, shaking their heads.

From over the bushes, and apple flew, and Merry caught it. He examined it closely. "Lookit, Pip! Flying fruit!" he handed it to the forlorn hobbit and patted him on the shoulder. "Hm?" Pippin glanced at the item, startled, and cast merry a glance. Soon, Viper's sharp eyes caught sight of another apple, which flew through the trees above them and hit Pippin in the head, who glanced up, bewildered.

Merry began to laugh heartily. "Pippin!" He cried, and the other scowled at him as he rubbed his sore head, only to brighten when he caught sight of what had hit him.

The part continued on their way, the two hobbits munching happily on their fruit, and Viper exchanged amused looks with Strider, who looked away after a few moments. Viper grinned, deciding to spend the time of silence thinking back.

There had been a world like this, once, he remembered. Different species of intelligent beings, and not just humans. There had even been elves, and dwarves, perhaps. He didn't exactly remember, it had been so long ago, but he eventually decided that that world had revolved around dragons quite a lot.

It was exciting, to watch, interesting to listen to, sometimes frustrating when he knew what they all should have done, but they did something else. But he hadn't stepped in, as that world had destroyed itself—he'd vowed not to do anything, know anyone, that time around.

Sometimes, he wished he had. Other times, he wished he'd hidden himself more carefully.

Soon enough, Viper found himself walking alongside Strider, who kept casting him wary glances. The hooded immortal could tell that the Ranger wanted to ask him some question—more like interrogate him—so he opened his mouth. "I'm very interested in this hobbit's journey. I was surprised to find he had that ring, that One Ring. I'd been under the impression that it had been lost to that fool of a king."

Ah, there we go. Strider turned to glare at him. "What do you want with the ring, stranger?"

"Well, now," Viper admonished him. "You know my name, sir."

"Yes," Strider agreed, "but I have no inkling of who you are—just your name. Viper, if it is even your name at all."

Viper paused, walking a few steps in silence before responding, and Strider observed him haltingly all the while. "Yes." he told him, quietly. "Viper is indeed my name, make no mistake for that."

Strider stared, then turned away and walked one step ahead of him. "Well, then, _Viper_," He continued. "What is it that you want with the ring?"

Viper tilted his head away form the other man and turned toward him halfway, still walking. "What do I want with it? Why, nothing at all. It is the journey I am interested. I have no need for any power that trinket promises—not that it could even convince me of so."

Strider paused in his stepped. "Nothing?" He asked, doubtfully. "I can hardly believe such lies. Of course you want the ring." He said mater-of-factly. Viper felt a headache coming on.

"Did you not listen to what I've just said? No, I wish nothing for the ring. It must be destroyed, if anything." Strider froze, falling behind a few steps as Viper continued walking casually, as if they'd been discussing the weather.

"Destroyed?" he echoed. "You wish to destroy it? Why?"

Viper raised an eyebrow. "Why else? It has brought nothing but destruction to this world since it's smithing, and so destruction shall be it's fate." He replied simply, and made to walk ahead of the party.

Strider stayed behind, just ahead of the hobbits, who huddled in their own conversation, and the Ranger stared at the back of the mysterious figure known as Viper for the rest of the journey that day, until they stopped at the fall of night for rest.

oOoOo

"_Tinúviel elvanui,  
Elleth alfirin ethelhael  
O hon ring finnil fuinui  
A renc gelebrin thiliol._"

Viper sat in the dark, at the very edge of the campfire, leaning against the rough bark of the tree. His eyes were closed, and his breath was slow and even, chest rising in sync with the intakes of oxygen. His arms crossed loosely over his chest and his chin resting on his collarbones. To anyone observing, he would appear asleep. But he wasn't.

Viper didn't really sleep all that much anyway.

He listened silently as Strider sang the song of the fair elven maiden, saying nothing, not moving once to even suggest that he was awake and listening. He let Strider sing on.

Soon, the rustle of cloth was heard, once the song had finished, and Viper heard Frodo's voice. "Who is she? This woman you sing of?"

"'Tis the Lay of Lúthien. The Elf-maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal." Strider replied, and Viper heard the tone of sadness in his voice.

But he wanted to laugh. Laugh, long and hard. A _mortal_... These elves, they thought they were immortal. _Now_ he remembered.

But they _were immortal_... sort of. However, not like him. _They_ could still _die_, he thought bitterly, before tuning in on the quiet conversation once more when Frodo asked another question.

"What happened to her?" the little hobbit whispered.

"... She died." Strider said, mournfully, and Viper wondered why the story made him so tearful, like now. The Ranger sighed, looking back at the slightly concerned hobbit. "Get some sleep, Frodo. You will need it for the journey."

Frodo stared at him for some time, before nodding hesitantly and lying back down on his bedroll. Viper waited until he heard the even breathing of the hobbit before silently standing up and making his way over to the other man, who had his back turned. He sat down next to the Ranger, on the deadened tree. "You will need rest for the journey too." He told the man. Strider said nothing. Viper tilted his head, inquiringly. "Something is bothering you..."

"It is nothing," The man said immediately in response. Viper smiled. "I see."

They sat in silence for much longer into the night, until Viper leaned forward, and twisted around to look Strider in the face, though the other man would not be able to see his, hooded as it was. "You need to sleep," He observed, in the way that made it seem as if he was speaking only to himself. "Go. I will take this watch."

Strider sat, frozen, under Viper's intense gaze, until he nodded stiffly. "Very well. But, you will wake me for the next one."

"Of course."

Strider nodded once again, and made his way to his own bedroll, near the fire, which was dwindling down. They'd made it small, as to not extract attention—Viper hadn't wanted to make one at all, but the hobbits had complained of no dinner, and then no _supper_—how on earth would they survive? Viper let out a whispery chuckle, before leaning back and lounging on the log, staring off into the night.

oOoOo

They traveled in silence all of the following day. Well, not entirely—Sam and the other hobbits, barring Frodo, were confused by the tense air surrounding their part, and whispered amongst one another, guessing the cause. What stumped them, though, was the carefree aura that wove itself around the one called Viper. They stuck closer to him than Strider, which almost upset the Ranger quite a bit, seeing it as the hobbits trusting the unknown stranger more than him, _another_ relatively unknown stranger, and Viper wanted to laugh—and they soon made their way out of the swampy marshlands, now crossing rockier country.

Soon, night approached once more, and Strider led them up a tall hill, at the top of which sat a section of ruins. "We will stop here for the night," he told them. Viper shrugged, and the hobbits all sat down with a thump, exhausted. The all flung of their packs and settled down under an overhang near the hill's summit. Strider went to his own pack and opened it, pulling out four, short swords that Viper correctly guessed were for the hobbits, as the Ranger handed the weapons to the Halflings. "These are for you," he told them, as Viper climbed up and lounged on the roof of the overhang. Strider sent him an annoyed glance, before continuing once Viper responded with a cheeky grin. "Keep them close, understand? I am going to have a look around." He stepped back at the hobbit's nods, and glanced up at the relaxed form of the mysterious Viper. "And you?"

"I'll stay here," Viper mused in a thoughtful tone. "Wouldn't want the tiny little hobbits to accidentally fall on their shiny new swords, now would we? He grinned in the face of Strider's unamused glare, and laughed at the affronted looks the hobbits sent him. "Be calm, Halflings. I was merrily joking. You are all too tense."

"Such a situation that calls us to be," Strider responded stiffly, before making his way away from the camp. Viper rolled unseen eyes at the man's attitude.

It was dark, now, and the Ranger hadn't returned. Viper lied still on the roof of the overhang, listening to the sounds of the night, before he frowned. What was that smell... smoke?

"My tomato's burst." A voice sounded, and Viper blinked his eyes opened. This light he saw...

"Can I have some bacon?" He heard Merry ask someone.

"Okay," Pippin responded, and he heard shuffling. Then, "Want some tomatoes, Sam?"

"What are you doing?!" He began to sit up when Frodo hissed in alarm.

Merry sounded confused. "Tomatoes, sausages, nice crispy bacon... Hungry, Mister Frodo?"

Viper's eyes widened. _How much more idiotic could they be?! _He sprung up as he listened to Frodo stomping on the fire.

"Put it out, you fools! Put it out!"

"Oh, that's nice!" Pippin complained. "Ash on my tomatoes!"

"_What_," Viper asked in a low tone as he jumped down from the overhang, "is going on here?" His voice was deadly, and all the hobbits went silent.

"We were hungry..." Sam began hesitantly, eyes wide. "W-we didn't think—"

"That's _right_," Viper agreed in a hiss. "That's right _exactly_. You _didn't_ think, not at all!" He straightened as he heard the approaching cries of the Nazgul. "Foolish hobbits, look what you've done!"

The hobbits all sprang up, and went to the edge of the overhang, peering over to see five Black Riders closing in on the hill. They yelped, skittering back, and unsheathing their small swords. Viper bit back a mirthless laugh. "No, you fools! Go!" He motioned back up to the top of the ruins. The hobbits rushed in the direction he indicated, the dark night and the cries of the Nazgûl surrounding them.

They reached the top and stood in the middle of the ring of ruined pillars, shaking in their boots. The Nazgûl slowly circled about them, holding deadly sharpened swords. "Oh!" Pippin cried. Where did Mister Viper go?" He asked, panicked.

"I cannot see him," Merry shook his head as the three hobbits surrounded Frodo.

"Back, you devils!" Sam shouted, brandishing his sword in the face of the Black Riders. He clashes swords with the Nazgûl before him, only to be thrown away from the group. Pippin and Merry are dealt with in a similar manner, and the leading Nazgûl approached Frodo, who tried to scramble backward. The young hobbit began to panic as the wraith pulled out a long, wickedly sharp dagger, and he slipped the Ring onto his stubby finger.

But it didn't seem to work. Even though he was now invisible to the sight of all—but not, Viper later explained, to the sight that mattered—the Nazgûl reached forward for him, seemingly knowing exactly where he was. And, to his horror, the Ring seemed to lift itself higher, forcing his hand along with it, up to meet the hand of the Black Rider, the ghostly king, the wraith—

Frodo jerked back, taking the ring with him, and the Nazgûl howled in rage. It took it's long dagger and stabbed it through the hobbit's shoulder, then reached for his hand, the one that wore the Ring. Frodo cried out in pain, choking back a gasp, the ring slipped off of his finger and into the pocket of his jacket in a late attempt to hide it from the spirits.

"Back!" A voice shouted. "Back, I say, back!" Strider appeared, leaping over the downed hobbit, who clutched at his shoulder, with a cry and charged at the wraiths, which all veered back from his blade.

Viper knelt down next to Frodo, who had his eyes shut tightly, and slipped the weapon out of his shoulder quickly. He watched in fascination as the blade dissolved, and the hobbit screamed, and Viper healed him down, examining his wound closely, and ignoring the pained cries from the struggling Halfling.

"Frodo!" Sam cried, and he and the other hobbits rushed to his side. "Viper held up a hand before they got close. "Give him room." He looked down, and cursed. "Ah! Poison, of a Morgul blade."

"Is it bad?" Pippin asked hastily. "I mean, fatal, is it?"

Viper tilted his head. "Hm, yes. I think so." Then he blinked. "Oh, not the wound itself, but the poison... Yes, yes it is. Fatal, I mean." The hobbits cried out in despair. "But Viper remained cheerful. "Ah, but if we make haste to Rivendel, well, he should be fine in a few weeks."

They turned to watch Strider fight off the remaining Nazgûl, a torch in one hand, sword in the other, and the Ranger drove them off to follow the ones that had already fled. He spun around and rushed to them. "Where is the injury?"

He gasped.

Viper raised a hand. "No need. Morgul blade, wound's poisoned, yes. He's dying. We need to hurry on to Rivendel, Strider."

The Ranger cursed violently, ripping of the ends of his cloak and tying them tightly around Frodo's wound. Viper leaned back as the other hobbit's watched in fear, and Frodo fell unconscious. "I did tell you were should have left before, did I not?"

"Yes, well," Strider glared up at him, "now is not the time to be speaking of this." He looked down once again. "This wound it is beyond my own skill to heal—"

Viper sighed. "Yes, I could already tell."

Strider growled, but continued. "He needs elvish medicines. Come, let us make haste." He wrapped his arms around the motionless hobbit and stood, making way to leave Amon Sûl. The uninjured hobbits following behind, eyes tearful and full of fear.

Viper stood there without a word, watching as Frodo called out for his wizard friend, Strider hushing him. "We're six days from Rivendel already!" Sam was crying. "He'll never make it!"

He sucked in a deep breath and followed, wrapping his thumbs over his pointer fingers, under his middle fingers, as he walked, cracking the knuckled just to give him something to do.

"This was a little more boring than I thought it would be.." He mumbled under his breath, frowning. "And short, too... Frodo Baggins, you had better survive this. I don't want to wait another thousand years for something to happen."

oOoOo

Viper was crouched up in a tree, watching silently as Strider knelt in the undergrowth, looking for the plant knowns in the Shire as Kingsfoil. He wondered what he was suppose to think of all of this. Frodo was lying back at the campsite—they'd moved somewhere else, since Amon Sûl—wrapped from head to toe in blankets, sweating like he was three feet away from the sun, with Sam tending to him like a mother hen to it's chicks. He knew that, if the hobbit was not treated soon, then he himself would turn into one of the Nazgûl, those Black Riders.

He wondered, silently, what could possibly happen if he'd been the one stabbed by the Morgul blade. He was immortal already, he couldn't die—but could he turn into one of those, and would he be stuck like that, or would it just fade away when this world died, and another was born from it's ashes? Or would he be forced to wander for eternity as a wicked, twisted, ghostly wraith, a spirit that lusted after a ring that, once this world was gone, wouldn't even exist anymore.

He shuddered at the thought. Maybe his existence wasn't so terrible, wasn't the worst, after all.

Viper watched as Strider jumped, a sword pointed at his throat. A sweet, almost mocking voice rang out. "Oh, what's this? A Ranger off his guard?"

Viper jumped after Strider as he led the newcomer, a elven woman named Arwen, back to the camp. Arwen slowly approached the still-unconscious Frodo and spoke a few lines of elvish. "_Lasto beth nîn. Tolo dan na ngalad_."

Viper mentally translated the words, then nodded in satisfaction, watching as they did their work. Frodo would be safe, for now.

"Who is she?" Whispered Merry. Arwen knelt by Frodo's side and called out his name.

"She's an elf," Sam breathed. Arwen looked up into the worried face of Strider. "He's fading."

"Where's Viper?" Pippin asked, Arwen looked up at the question, curious. She looked at the Ranger beside her. "Viper? Who is this the Halfling speaks of?"

Strider opens his mouth to reply, but Viper decided this would be the time to show himself, and he jumped down from the trees—they group jumping at his arrival. "That would be me," He told her. He ignored her studying look and glanced down at Frodo, who was breathing heavily. "He's not going to last." He told them.

Arwen straightened. "We must bring him to my father. I have been looking for you," she turned to Strider and the hobbits, "for two days." Strider knelt and lifted Frodo into his arms.

"Where are you taking him?" Sam cried.

"There are five wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, I do not know." Arwen relayed, and walked with Strider over to the horse she'd rode to look for them. The two engaged in a intense conversation, and Viper listened intently. "_Stay with the hobbits. I will send horses back for you_."

Arwen shook her head quickly. "_I am the faster rider. I shall take him._"

"_The road is too dangerous._" Strider argued back.

"What are they saying?" Pippin asked, confused.

"_Frodo is dying. If I can get across the river, the power of my people will protect him_." Arwen told the ranger sternly, before her face smoothed into an impassive mask. "I do not fear them."

Strider studied her for a moment longer, before he gave a weak smile. "_As you wish_."

The mask quickly shattered as Arwen smiled back.

"They're speaking in elvish, Sindarin, a language of the elves." Viper explained to the slowly panicking hobbits—Sam, especially, was wringing his hands in worry, frowning heatedly at the two conversing adults. Viper's smooth slight-baritone put they more at ease, but not by much. Arwen mounted her horse, and Strider set Frodo before her. The elf wrapped one arm around the unconscious hobbit, and grasped the reigns with her free hand.

"Arwen," Strider called. She looked at him. "Ride hard, don't look back!" Arwen nodded and leaned forward, The horse shot ahead. "_Noro lim, Asfaloth, noro lim!_"

"What are you doing?!" Sam asked Strider hysterically, as he walked back to their fire. "Those wraiths are still out there!"

Strider said nothing. Viper watched as he stared after the quickly retreating elf. He turned to face the panicking hobbits. "No fears, little ones. That was Arwen. She is the daughter of the Lord of Rivendel. She will take your friend to safety."

He looked up, then narrowed his eyes. _He'd better survive._

They soon heard screeching, and Viper's head snapped up. "They come," he told the others, and they Packed quickly. Viper waited, before leading them out of the clearing and int rocky terrain once more. Soon, the Nazgûl were quickly gaining on them, and Strider unsheathed his sword. He eyed Viper curiously with a hint of annoyance. "Do you have a weapon at all?" He asked

Viper raised an eyebrow. "Well? Yes, I do, I'll have you know. Some Ranger you are, I'm surprised you haven't noticed it already." He reached down and pulled twin daggers from their sheaths. They were long, black blades with silver hilts, wickedly sharp. Strider's eyes widened and Viper knew he was wondering how he had not seen them on his person before.

But the Nazgûl approached, and he had no time for questioning now. Viper felt almost sightly relieved. He hated the interrogation part.

One of the wraiths swung it's sword at Strider's throat, missing by only an inch. Viper whistled and the Ranger threw him a look. The hooded immortal only grinned.

"Where is the Halfling, Ranger?!" The Nazgûl hissed in a raspy voice, angry beyond belief.

"Which one?" Viper mused, and Strider snorted. Pippin, Merry, and Sam could be heard giggling in the bushes. _So much for keeping hidden_, Viper thought, rolling his eyes.

The Black Rider only hissed once again in rage, it's companions behind it. "_Where is the Ring?!_"

"Oh!" Viper brightened. "_Him_. Yes... No idea." He shrugged as the Black Riders screamed, slashing at him. He brought up his daggers to fend them off as they lunged at him in anger.

Strider decided to join in. "You _just_ missed him," the Ranger told the wraiths. Viper cackled.

Eventually, they managed to fend of the Nazgûl, and Viper stood in a tree, staring after them as they rode away—thankfully in the opposite direction than the way Arwen took Frodo. He jumped down from his perch and was met with the expectant stares of Strider and the hobbits. "What?" He raised an eyebrow. Strider rolled his eyes. "Well?" The Ranger asked.

Viper leaned against the trunk of the tree, wiping one dagger on the cloth over his knee. "Yes, they are gone. Away from Frodo, in the least." The hobbits let out sighs of relief and plopped down on the ground.

Viper grinned. "Oh, no. No time for rest! Of to Rivendel we shall go!" They groaned, and Strider watched on, amused. "Up! Up, I tell you! We have long in our journey to go, yet!"

And, with much complaints, he rose the hobbits once more, and the part continued on toward Rivendel, toward safety.

oOoOo

The rest of the journey was spent in relative silence, the hobbits occasionally muttering amongst themselves, and Sam asking if they thought Frodo was alright every so often. After a few hundred times of the two men replying that they couldn't know, Viper saw that Strider was beginning to get annoyed. He made his way over to the man's side and raised an eyebrow, following behind the irritated Ranger in silence. Sam asked once again, and Strider snapped the answer out this time. The hobbit shrank back, eyes wide and somewhat hurt, before scurrying back to the other Halflings. Viper sped up a little and placed a hand on Strider's shoulder. The Ranger tensed and spun around pinning him with a intense glare, but Viper only tilted his head, saying nothing. Eventually, Strider let his shoulders drop and he sighed. "I know. I am too restive. I should apologize. You don't have to tell me."

Viper raised an eyebrow. "I did not think we were as close as to understand one another without words, Strider. But, yes. I think you need to calm yourself. Worrying over this is not going to help anything." The hooded man took back his hand and stretched his arms above his head, yawning. "Trust me."

Strider turned his head and stared at him for a while, eyes searching his shadowed face, until the Ranger seemed to find something that satisfied him, and he nodded with a small smile. "Ah. Of course. Thank you."

Viper watched in silence as the man made his way over to the hobbits and leaned down to look them eye-to-eye. He didn't hear what was spoken—though, he could have if he so wished—but eventually the hobbits were all nodding and smiling at Strider tiredly. Sam said something, and Strider laughed, patting the hobbit on the head. Viper saw Pippin looking over at him curiously, and he turned his head away, walking ahead without a word. He didn't see the frown on the youngest hobbit's face, after that.

They spent the rest of the day walking on, and barely a word was spoken, save for the few lame attempts from the hobbits to start a conversation. Eventually they gave up, and it was nearing dark once again. The hobbit's eyes were drooping tiredly, and their walk was sluggish and slow at best.

"Oh, look." Viper suddenly spoke, dully, sounding intensely uninterested in the world. The hobbits barely bothered to listened, until—"It's Rivendel. How lovely."

Strider straightened, looking around alertedly, until he spotted it, just through the trees. He blinked, stunned. "I have traveled this road many a times, so I did not think we would make it so quickly as this, especially with the pace we were at..." Viper shrugged, watching the hobbits rush forward to gape openly at the magnificent view. "Well, there's a first time for everything, yes?"

Strider observed him carefully. "You do not look very interested in the sight before you. Have you been here before?"

Viper tilted his head. Had he? He couldn't remember. He gestured at Rivendel, which lay before them, and shrugged once again. "Eh." He made a non-committal sound. "I've seen better."

Strider raised his brows, looking extremely doubtful. "I see..." Viper only grinned in response, before turning to the hobbits, who were chattering excitedly. "Oi, Halflings! Get your packs together, and into Rivendel we shall venture."

They jumped at the order, shouldering their belongings once more, and grinned at one another as they followed the two men. Sam was literally bouncing in place, then rushing almost ahead of them if Viper didn't keep snatching him by the collar and pulling him back again. "Whoa, there. There's no need to rush. We will arrive in due time, no matter."

The hobbit blushed. "Ah, right, sir. 'M sorry, I guess I'm just excited."

"He wants to see the elves," Pippin chimed in, grinning at the look Sam shot him.

"And Mister Frodo!" The gardener shot back. Merry cackled. "I wonder, what kind of food do the elves make?"

Pippin jumped up and down. "Oh, I bet you it's wonderful!"

Viper turned to Strider, raising an unseen brow. "They are like children." He complained. Strider snorted, shaking his head. "Ah, but they are hobbits. That is what they are like."

The hooded man huffed. "Indeed." And they made their way down to the great elven city, reading for days of rest.

oOoOo

"_Lasto beth nîn. Tolo dan na ngalad._"

Frodo slowly awoke, blinking as bright light assaulted his eyes. Those last words he'd heard, what did they mean? They sounded familiar. He took a breath of clean, fresh air, and blinked slowly, taking in his surroundings. He felt soft, clean bedsheets beneath him—where was he?

He voiced his question aloud, and almost jumped when someone answered. "The house of Elrond!" He turned to see a very welcomed sight. "And," the wizened man went on, "it is ten o'clock in the morning, on October the twenty-fourth, if you so wish to know."

Frodo sat up, half surprised his shoulder hurt no longer. "Gandalf!" he cried.

The old wizard smiled happily. He was seated on the end of the bed the young hobbit lay in, smoking his pipe, a familiar and welcomed sight to the already home-sick hobbit. The room they were in opened up into a beautiful garden that just stole his breath away, and the warm autumn air breezed in gently. The sound of falling water mixed with the lovely singing of birds soothed his nerves. "Yes… I am here. And you're lucky to be here, too, my dear boy. A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid. But you have some strength in you, yet, young Frodo!"

Frodo smiled, and the two shared a laugh, before the hobbit ventured to ask, "What happened, Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?"

"Ah, that," Gandalf raised his brows. "I was... held captive."

"Captive!" Frodo exclaimed. "You?"

"Yes," the old wizard laughed. "Me!"

The two conversed for a while longer, discussing the journey, with Frodo asking many questions that still plagued his mind. Eventually, they reached the point where Frodo and the others had been surrounded by the Ringwraiths.

"Your choices could have used some improvement," Gandalf scolded the young hobbit, and Frodo sunk in his place on the bed. "But," the wizard went on, "to have come so far, and through such dangers, still bearing the Ring—I believe you've done very well." He smiled.

Frodo grinned, then sighed. "Well, I do not think we would have made it very far, if it wasn't for Strider, and Viper."

Gandalf nodded, smiling, then he paused, raising a brow. "Viper? Yes, quite the mysterious man..." he eyed the hobbit. "My dear Frodo, can you tell me of him?"

"He's amazing!" Frodo admitted, nodding. "He had these two daggers—I didn't see much, but he managed to fight off those wraiths faster than even Strider was able! I don't know much about him, he didn't talk about himself, much, but he is fun to talk with..." The hobbit grinned.

Gandalf nodded, then sat back. "Ah, yes. Strider—his name, actually, is Aragorn. Or Estel, if you're an elf. He is something special—in fact, he's one of the few who still has the blood of the old Kings from over the Sea!"

Frodo's eyes widened. "_Strider_? He is descended of the Men of Westernesse?! I find that hard to see." he admitted. But Gandalf confirmed the fact, "That is what the Rangers are, my dear hobbit. The last remnant in the North of the great people, the Men of the West ."

"Still," The wizard went on. "I would much rather know more of this 'Viper.' He is an enigma among the unknown, truly."

Frodo leaned back against the soft pillows of the bed. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked.

"Well," the wizard replied. "You arrived here on October the 20th, and only now just awoke. For four days, my young hobbit." Frodo took in a breath.

"Frodo!" The door burst open, and a blur dashed into the room, reappearing at Frodo's side. Sam grinned tearfully. "Frodo!"

"Sam!" Frodo cried, reaching out a hand, which the gardener clasped happily. "Bless you, you're awake!" the young hobbits shared a laugh.

"Sam here has hardly left your side since he arrived, my friend." Gandalf told him, and Sam grinned, nodding at Frodo. "We were that worried about you, weren't we, Mister Gandalf?"

The wizened old wizard sat back against the board that rested at the foot of the bed. "Indeed, young Frodo. With the skills of Lord Elrond, you are beginning to mend."

The door opened once more, this time more gently. The elf-lord smiled down at the resting hobbit. "Welcome to Rivendel, Frodo Baggins." Elrond greeted warmly.

oOoOo

Rivendel sits high above a gorge thick with pines and deciduous shrubs. Delicate waterfalls, shimmering in the afternoon light, traced their way down to the river below. A stone bridge spanned the chasm as a cloaked rider upon a black horse gallops across the plains above the falls, making it's way down to the gardens below.

In such gardens, Sam led Frodo by the hand to be reunited with their hobbit friends. Pippin and Merry gathered around the smiling Baggins, chattering happily about the rest journey he'd missed.

"You should have seen Strider's face, Frodo!" Pippin was laughing. "Viper wouldn't stop grinning at him for the rest of the night!"

"It was quite funny," Sam admitted, and they all shared a laugh at the Ranger's expense.

"Oh!" Merry cried, suddenly. "You'll love this Frodo," He smiled.

Frodo blinked in surprised, curious, before turning around. He broke into a smile. "Bilbo!" He cried, rushing over to his fatherly figure and embracing the old hobbit tightly. Bilbo smiled happily, patting the younger's head of thick curls. "Hello, Frodo, my lad!"

Frodo pulled back and smiled. Bilbo looked aged, and frail, but he could still see that hard glint that longed for adventure in his eyes. He looked down and picked up the tome Bilbo had been reading from. "'There and Back Again: A Hobbit's tale by Bilbo Baggins...'" He leafed through the book, exclaiming, "Bilbo, this is wonderful!"

The older Halfling sighed. "Yes... I meant to go back… wander the paths of Mirkwood… visit Laketown… see the Lonely Mountain again. But age, it seems, has finally caught up with me." He gave Frodo a sad smile, as the younger hobbit shuffled through to the front of the book to view the map of the Shire. "I miss the Shire," he replied. "I spent all my childhood pretending I was off somewhere else… off with you on one of your adventures! My own adventure turned out to be quite different... I'm not like you, Bilbo." He shook his head.

"What do you mean?" Sam exclaimed. "I think you were mighty brave, Mister Frodo!"

"That's right!" Merry agreed. "I don't know a hobbit braver than you, Frodo!"

Bilbo lifted a wrinkled hand to pat his charge on the cheek. "My dear boy," he smiled. "I think your adventure, is just beginning."

"I say!" a voice called out, and the group of hobbits turned to see Aragorn approaching. "What's this? A gathering of Halflings, is it?"

"Strider!" Merry bounced over to the Ranger. "Where were you?"

"Talking with the Lord Elrond, Merry. He is the one who raised me, after all—we were catching up on lost time."

"Right!" Sam brightened, turning to Frodo. "Did you know, Mister Frodo? Aragorn was raised by elves! They all call him 'Estel.'" Frodo looked up at the Ranger, interest gleaming in his eyes. Aragorn smiled. "I am glad to see you well, Frodo."

"What's going to happen, Strider? Now that we have brought the ring to Rivendel?" Frodo asked.

"We now await the arrival of the rest of those invited to the Council of Elrond, my friend." Aragorn replied, sitting down next to Bilbo, who nodded at him. "It is an honor to meet you, Bilbo Baggins, the hobbit who traveled in Thorin Oakensheild company to defeat the dragon Smaug!" The Ranger exclaimed, clasping hands with the aged hobbit. "Many a story I have heard of you."

"It's certainly pleasant to know that I'm still remembered, little my part in the actual defeat was." Bilbo stated modestly.

"Too humble, you are," Aragorn shook his head, moving on to speak more, but the group's attention was grabbed at the sound of shouts of surprise, and galloping hooves approaching the garden.

"Whoa!" Merry cried, and the group all managed to duck in time as a black stallion leaped over their heads. The rider laughed at their reactions. "Viper!" Pippin yelled, waving his arms and grinning.

The horse cantered around the garden, and the hooded man jumped up in the saddle and stood on the stallion's back, before flipping off and landing on his feet before their group. Viper grinned. "Ho! Did the hobbits migrate when I wasn't looking? There's another one!" He pointed at Bilbo in jest, and the Halflings laughed. Strider jumped back and and shot the other man a look. "Viper! Where did you get that horse?"

Viper tilted his head curiously, the very picture of innocence—a sight Strider and the young hobbits were fast getting familiar with. "Hm? Oh, him?" he nodded his head toward the stallion, who cantered to his side and neighed affectionately, bumping it's nose against the man's shoulder. Viper laughed, running a gloved hand along the horses head.

"This is Tharbadir." Viper told them. "The elves let me barrow him from the stables when they noticed he loves me." The hooded man grinned. "Because I am truly amazing, you know." The hobbits all laughed and smiled, while Aragorn rolled his eyes in good humor. "_Indeed_..."

Soon, evening fell, and Strider could be found on the terrace reading from a thickly bound tome. He looked up as footsteps echoed on the stone floor, coming towards him. A sandy-haired man entered the room and pauses in front of a battle-piece portraying the one called Isildur, who held a broken sword, raised against the dark Sauron. He regarded the painting intently for a moment or two, interested. Then, conscious of another presence, turned and saw Aragorn staring at him curiously. He blinked in surprise. "You are no elf!"

"The Men of the South are welcome here." Aragorn replied, closing the book quietly and setting it aside.

"Who are you?" The man inquired, leaning forward.

"A friend of Gandalf the Grey."

"Then we are here for a common purpose," the man smiled, "friend. I am called Boromir."

They exchanged a few words more, and Boromir seemed puzzled by Strider's reluctance in revealing his identity. Eventually, the man seemed to give up, turning back and wandering over to the lady's shrine that sat opposite the wall painting of Isildur. "I see!" He cried, "The shards of Narsil! The blade that cut the ring from Sauron's hand!" He reached for the haft, picking it up and shifting it in his hand, testing it's weight and feel as a warrior should. He stared at the shattered weapon, running his fingers along the edge. "Ah!" He cut himself, pulling his fingers away and smearing the pricks of blood across his thumb. "It's still sharp," he observed. Boromir turned to see Strider staring at him, watching his moves intently. He blinked, before carelessly returning the haft to it's place—and it clattered noisily to the ground. Boromir flinched slightly, but frowned down at it. "But no more than a broken heirloom!" The man hesitated, glancing back a Strider, before walking away, exiting the room without another look behind him. He bumped into another in the doorway, and the newcomer silently watched him leave.

Strider didn't pay the man any mind. He slowly stood up and reached for the broken, sword, carefully returning it to it's place in the Lady's stone arms, before stepping back and resting his hand above his heart. Viper watched this quietly, before speaking from his place just inside the doorway. "You look afraid." he observed, smooth voice cutting into the silence.

Strider stared up at the Lady for a few moments more, before turning to face the hooded man. He considered Viper, then seemingly deciding to throw caution to the wind. "I am Isildur's heir." he replied, voice weighed down heavily.

Viper raised his eyebrows, but showed no other form of surprise. He moved forward until he stood next to the Ranger, and looked curiously down at the shattered weapon. "Ah. But, you are not Isildur himself, correct?" He tilted his head and glanced over at his companion. Strider was stunned to catch even a flash of glittering green before it was swallowed by the shadows. "You are not bound by his fate."

"The same blood flows through my veins," Strider sighed despairingly. "The same weakness."

"Your time will come," Viper declared, and Strider looked back up, wishing he could spot that glimmer of color again in the shadows of the hood. But he couldn't, and Viper placed a hand on his shoulder. "You will face the same evil, and you will defeat it."

"_A si i-Dhúath ú-orthor, Aragorn._" A voice spoke, and the two men looked at the door. Arwen stood behind the entryway, observing them. "_Ú or le a ú or nin_."

She walked over and looked up into Aragorn's face intently. He stared back at her. "The shadows do not hold sway, yet." Viper mused, translating her words, and the two turned to him, surprised. He grinned.

"Aa. Not over you, and not over me."

oOoOo

_**Multi-Crossover.**_

_**Main element: Harry potter**_

_**Arc One: Lord of the Rings**_

**First of all, this entire idea is dedicated to my goof friend Vanyalin(her username on this site), who was their throughout my planning of everything. She died just recently, hit by a drunk driver. The driver turned himself in later that day, and I expect he feels terrible, but I was pretty darn devastated when I was PMed by her friend, telling me of her passing. Since she was practically the co-author fir this idea(though she didn't write the chapters), and I bounced so many ideas off of her, I'm dedicating this arc, and all the ones that follow to her, and only her. I'll miss you, Mirage. You were an amazing person.**

**Speaking of this, the friend who contacted me(on here, his username is Raumoverca) has decided to take the ideas he'd found she'd left over and write them himself. She had so many amazing ideas, but never had to confidence to post them, or even write many of them out. He asked me if I was interested in taking over a few stories of her's, and I agreed. I really would love to. I plan on it, in fact. **

**I've decided to post this first chapter despite the fact that I had originally planned to not post this story until either it was complete or I was past chapter ten. However, due to Mirage's sudden death, I'm posting this first chapter to dedicate it and the following chapters and arcs right away. I will not start updating it until I'm finished or have reached chapter ten, so there's not need to rush through it and beg for new chapters. I'd love to hear your reviews on this first chapter; tell me what you liked, what you want to see, what I can improve, what should be changed or fixed. Did I mess anything up? Tell me that. Did I do anything you liked and want to see more of? Tell me _that_. I'd really love to hear what you guys think, so please read and review!**

**Now that I've said that, there are a few other points I need to put across to you guys.**

**This is going to be one of the biggest projects I have ever worked on. If any of you readers wish for me to add on another arc—which I will most likely be doing anyway—send me your ideas, which show/book/game do you want to see?**

**This is mainly a way to keep me busy, and I don't think I'll get bored with it, since I can always tack on more ideas whenever I want. I am determined to stick with this, so please don't get mad at me if I happen to ignore some of my other stories for this one, as I am coming to see this one as slightly more important(other than Vanyalin's stories, of course). If you wish to skip an arc, if you don't like the second category featured, or if you don't know it(in which case, I'd just recommend googling the fandom, then reading the plot and such on a few wikis—that's what I do ^-^), go ahead, but you might miss something important, is all I'll say.**

**I'd love it if you would review, and tell me what you think. This story is purely for my own enjoyment, and if you happen to like it, then that's great! If you don't, then that's fine too—though, if you go on to other chapters just for the sake of flaming them, then I'll have to ask you to stop, and why are you still reading it?**

**That's about it. I've had this idea stuck in my head for a long time, and it just wouldn't leave. Eventually, my mind kept adding in more shows and books for more chapters in the idea, and it became to much for me to bear. It seemed fun enough, so I thought I 'd give it a shot. Please tell me what you think! I'm also using this as a way to further my writing abilities, so I will be putting lots of hard work into this, and would be overjoyed to get some constructive criticism and advice.**

**Thank you for reading!**

**~Scylar X.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**And in the Darkness Bind Them**_

_**Arc One: Lord of the Rings**_

**Chapter Two**

Viper turned once, twice, thrice—over and over again, turning round and around as he took in the sights of the garden. Tharbadir watched curiously and tilted his massive head from side to side occasionally, as the hobbits had quickly gotten dizzy from his movements and had left not a half-hour before for the dining hall. Viper eventually got bored, with only the stallion as company, and he took to staring absentmindedly up at the sky as he spun around in place.

"Are you going to the feast tonight, Viper?" A wizened voice asked, and the hooded man spun around one more time before he caught sight of the robed figure that sat on the bench to the left of the garden. He grinned.

"I once knew an old man just like you," He mused quietly. "He loved sneaking up on people and scaring them out of their wits, and his eyes twinkled in a manner very much like yours do now—it drove everyone to near insanity."

"Is that right?" Gandalf leaned forward, resting his staff on his knees. "Would I know this man, by any chance at all?"

"No," Viper shook his head, finally stopping his spinning. Tharbadir appeared to be relieved, until the young man began to sway dizzily. "There's no chance at all, sir."

"I see," the wizard commented, watching Viper grasp his head before sinking to the ground and sitting in a lotus position. "Strange... I would have thought I'd have at least met this man. So much like myself, you claim, and one such as me does tend to get around, if I do say so myself."

"You do," Viper agreed, letting out a soft groan before falling over, deciding the grass was a decent resting place to curl up like a cat. Gandalf observed this all with amusement. "But I know for certain you have never come across one another. This man is dead, I should tell you."

Gandalf sat back again, looking down at the young man who still clutched his head. Tharbadir cantered over to his downed rider and forced his nose into Viper's hood. The lithe man swatted the stallion away, making a noise of disgruntlement. "How unfortunate," he answered. "I am sure we would have been close friends."

Viper stilled, then rolled over onto his back. He stared up at the curious black horse with unseen eyes, shadowed by the dark of his hood, which attached to his just-as-black tunic. "Aa," he finally breathed, quite softly. "I am sure you would have."

Gandalf was silent, starring at the nimble form of the mysterious one known to Rivendel as Viper, before standing up without a sound and exiting the garden, careful not to disturb the hooded man that occupied his thoughts. Viper looked reminiscent as he held Tharbadir's head between his gloved hands.

And he was.

The hooded man was thinking back, all those years ago, to his first ever mentor. He missed the old man terribly, and every time he saw Gandalf the Grey, he was reminded. It slightly hurt, a deep, almost numbing pain that throbbed somewhere in his chest. He gave up worlds ago on trying to figure it out.

Even though it had happened millennium ago, he could still remember, very clearly, that night. Watching his mentor fall from that tower, his least favorite teacher—discovering that the sour old man had only been trying to protect him and watch out for him had stung more than he would have ever dreamed—hovering over the place the ancient wizard had been standing—his fellow student trembling, clutching his wand in terror. Chasing after his professor, wishing for vengeance.

Now, as he he looked back on it all, everything he'd fought for then had seemed so silly, so small, so unworthy of the saving that his very existence had offered.

Viper let out a sigh, running one hand over the top of Tharbadir's mane. The soft, springy grass beneath him pressed into his back. It was relaxing, somehow warm.

Sometimes, he wished for another curse. Being forced to repeat time again and again seemed better than this empty existence—even if that would have surely drove him insane after a time.

There were simple things that he missed, from way back then. The twins, for one. They were always so cheerful, looking for the good in everything and bringing fun and laughs if it was difficult to find at any time. The epitome of optimistic. He sometimes found himself longing to be more like them. Some, back when he was a child, when he wasn't so immortal, would had said the twins were terrible roll models and he should think of doing something with his life instead of trying to be like them at all. But sometimes, like now, the situation called for a personality like the twins'. He had found, over time, that having an outlook on life that resembles theirs' helped, if only slightly.

"Oi!" A gruff voice called out, and Viper blinked in surprise, twisting around. Tharbadir let out an irritated neigh and stamped a hoof in annoyance as his new favorite person's attention was driven away from the stallion. A group of dwarves stood at the entrance to the garden, observing him with various expressions, ranging from amusement, irritation, curiosity, confusion, anger, haughtiness, superiority, and bemusement. "I understand we are early," one of the elder dwarves grunted, his voice booming loudly as if Viper's exceptional hearing couldn't pick it up if he were to speak normally. "But you could at least show us to Elrond instead of ignoring us!" Many of the dwarves companions nodded in agreement, grunting.

Viper blinked, observing the newcomers silently, puzzled, before he broke into a grin and braced his hand on the ground, backward, just above his head. The dwarves fell quiet, watching in confusion—and then surprise and reluctant awe and he flipped back and landed smoothly on his feet. The hooded man leaned back a ways, before flipping forward onto his hands in a hand stand, then moving back onto his feet. He did this until he reached the company of dwarves. On the last flip, he landed in a crouch and grinned up at the leading dwarf who had first called out to him. "'Allo, Mister Dwarf. You greeting confused me—should I know who you are? I apologize if we have met before. If so, I don't remember."

The dwarf blinked in confusion, about to speak, before one of his younger companions spoke up out of annoyance. "And who are you to speak to my father that way? He is Gloin, one of the party that went to the Lonely Mountain to face down Smaug! You should show him your respect!"

Viper observed the young dwarf in silence, watching with no little amusement as his unseen, yet piercing stare made the smaller male squirm slightly. The older dwarf looked almost worried as he moved to apologize, or another thing, "Gimli—" but this time he was cut off by Viper himself. "Ah. Sorry, I'm afraid I am confused as to why you treat me with such hostility, when we have never met..." He tilted his head innocently, blinking unseen eyes. "Oh, never mind. It must be because I'm so amazing, yes? You, Mister Dwarf number two, are jealous of me!" he gave a mocking gasp, laying one gloved hand on his chest, as the other hand was rather occupied in grasping the reigns of Tharbadir. The horse looked like it wanted to bite those scruffy beards right of the annoying dwarves' chins! "I never thought I'd see the day!" Viper grinned once more, before standing up and putting his free hand on Tharbadir's neck, calming the horse slightly. The dwarves were blinking in surprise and confusion, before a few snorted in either annoyance or mirth.

"I am not!" The dwarf Viper had been teasing yelled. "You are an elf, so of course you should be expecting such treatment!" The other dwarves nodded at this, even the leading one. Viper tilted his head back so that the dwarves caught one glimmer of toxic green from the depth of his hood, he smirked as he saw the younger one's shudder slightly. "Ah, I see now. You have mistaken me as an inhabitant of this lovely place." he let out a sigh, smoothly mounting Tharbadir's bare back, to which the stallion let out a satisfied snort, eying the dwarfs as if to say "he has chosen me, and not you!" The dwarves looked confused at Viper's words, until the oldest blushed with slight embarrassment. "You... are another guest, here for the secret Council?"

Viper paused, tilting his head and blinking innocently. "There's a secret Council? Why wasn't I informed?"

The dwarves gulped slightly, and their leader looked panicked while his son was still grumbling in embarrassment in yelling at the not-elf. Viper observed them curiously for a moment longer, before beginning to chuckle. "Fear not, my dear dwarves. I know that of which you speak. You are friends of Gandalf, then."

The dwarves relaxed, and a few laughed at his teasing. The leader, Gloin, grinned up at him. "And you are, Stranger? I apologize for the unpleasant first meeting. You have the familiar form of an elf."

Viper tilted his head once again, and the dwarves were quickly becoming accustomed to it. "My name is Viper. As for your earlier question—or rather, demand," here the dwarves blushed and mumbled more apologies, but the hooded man only waved them off dismissively with a laugh. "You can find the Lord Elrond in the dining Hall, I assume that Mister Gloin knows where that is. It would be rather cruel if I just left you here to wait for an elf to come along, though, if you do not, so I will lead you there myself. For all we know, the elves may very well be having a banquet. I know they are fond of their parties." He mused, apparently to himself. The dwarves all laughed, nodding in agreement, but Gimli only observed Viper with a strange look on his face. Worried—he looked as if he wanted to continue to apologize, but that want was arguing with his pride, the two warring inside of him. Viper dismissed it quickly and flipped of Tharbadir's back, much to the horse's displeasure. He shooed the stallion away, to which it began to roam the garden reluctantly, and started to lead the dwarves through the halls of Rivendel.

On the way to the Hall, Viper struck up many amusing or interesting conversations with the dwarves. "No, I haven't had the need to sharpen my daggers, thank you. They are still as sharp as the day I made them."

"_You_ made them?" Gimli asked in surprise as he and the other dwarves all examined the hooded man's weapons, impressed beyond their own beliefs.

"Aa." Viper grinned. "_I_ did." He looked up and quickly sheathed the two weapons, to the dwarves' collective disappointment. Viper grinned at them. "We are here." He said in explanation.

The group turned to the large, impressive doors that led to the dining Hall. Viper had seen better, though the dwarves looked to be denying their awe. The immortal smiled in amusement—it seemed the stubborn male's wouldn't even admit that they were impressed with anything of the elves, even upon pain of death! They could hear the bustling noises of a feast from behind the closed doors, and Viper turned around. He sent a nod to the group he'd taken on tour and began heading back toward the garden. He really enjoyed Tharbadir's company.

"Aren't you going, too?" Gloin called after him in surprise, and Viper turned back slightly. "He raised a hand. "I think not. I've already eaten, you see," he lied. He hadn't, but he didn't want to sit with everyone else. He'd be stuck until they all finished speaking with him—and Viper knew that he was one of the most interesting guests in Rivendel right now. He'd even heard a few female elves gossiping about "that mysterious hooded man that came with Estel and the hobbits," and "what do you think is under that hood?" as they cleaned, that afternoon.

Viper didn't like sitting in one place for too long. It drove him crazy. He'd tried it, once, for a few centuries. It took a while to fish himself out of that self-induced insanity. He didn't wish to meet that fate again.

He had a lot of unfortunate fates, now that he thought about it... Sadly, none of them ever worked.

Gloin nodded and entered the hall behind his companions and son, and Viper disappeared into the halls of Rivendel once again.

oOoOo

"The dwarves are here." Frodo looked up when Aragorn spoke, and saw a group of stout, muscular men sporting rough, bushy beards enter the hall. The thick oaken doors boomed closed once again as the last made an appearance. He looked familiar, but Frodo didn't know why. He'd never seen a dwarf before, ever.

"Frodo!" Pippin called, pointing out the last dwarf. Apparently he'd taken notice as well. "Isn't that one of the dwarves from Bilbo's stories? What's his name..."

"That one looks like Gloin, Pip." Merry chimed as he spooned another another serving of potatoes onto his plate.

"Gloin!" Frodo exclaimed quietly. "That's right! He's from the company of dwarves that hired Bilbo to journey with them on their adventure to find their long forgotten gold!"

"That's right." Aragorn smiled from his right. The hobbits turned to look as the Ranger pointed out one of the younger dwarves. "And that's Gimli. He's Gloin's son. Not too bad, wielding that ax of his."

They all watched in comfortable silence as Gandalf stood to greet his old friend. Gloin let out a booming laugh, and the old wizard led the group of dwarves to the table that Bilbo was seated at. The wizened hobbit smiled in welcome, greeting Gloin with a firm handshake.

"The dwarves Balin, Ori, and Oin, though," Aragorn spoke again, catching their attention. "They've met an unknown fate. No one knows what happened. That is one of the reasons why Gloin and these other dwarves are here for the Council."

"The others are fine, though. Living with Dáin."

"Dáin?"

"The King Under the Mountain, Merry." Pip reminded him, and the hobbit brightened. "Oh, right!"

Sam reached for another roll. "What's this Council for, anyway, Strider?"

"They're going to decide what to do with the Ring, Mister Gamgee." Aragorn replied as he buttered a slice of bread. "Frodo got it here to Rivendel, an now we are trying to figure out it's fate. Some wan to keep it safe, deep under the mines, or far away. One elf suggested shipping it out over the sea, to the Undying lands where Sauron will never reach it. Most want it gone—that is why they are holding a Council."

The hobbits shared a look, and then nodded at the Ranger to show they understood.

"Where's Viper?" Pippin suddenly asked, looking around wildly. He quite liked their mysterious hooded traveling companion.

Aragorn raised his head to look around the hall—but, sure enough, Viper was no where to be seen. "I suppose I could go look for him." He replied slowly, moving to stand up. "He might not know where to find the hall." The hobbits gasped in pity. Not knowing were the food was was horrible indeed. They agreed, and the Ranger swept out of the hall, making his way to the gardens where he'd last seen Viper. The sky was beginning to darken.

"looking for your mysterious hooded friend?" A gruff voice sounded, and the hobbits spun around in surprise. Gloin smiled at them. "Aye. You must be Frodo and friends. Bilbo has told me much of you." He settled himself down in Aragorn's abandoned seat and bit into a leg of lamb. "That Viper fellow is the one who showed us to the hall, that's right."He explained. "Said he wasn't hungry, that he already ate. I bet he's sitting in the garden with that stallion, beau'iful steed, that one."

"Oh!" Merry blinked, eyebrows raised. He turned to Pippin, who grinned. "I guess Strider didn't need to go look for him after all." Pippin only shrugged, reaching for another bowl of stew. "His loss, I'd say." He replied.

Meanwhile, as the hobbits continued their meals, Aragorn wandered the gardens of Rivendel in search of a man he didn't think he'd have a chance of finding. It was rather dark, now, the shadows leaping out at him. He distantly remembered when he was a young child. He'd sneaked out of his room in the night, if only because his ada had told him not to. He'd been terrified of the shadows that lapped at his feet, crying out in fear and jumping at every sudden and unknown noise. He'd eventually found himself in one of the many gardens, and had hid behind a statue of the elven hero, Aegnor until sunlight. He'd eventually fallen asleep curled at the statued feet, and didn't hear the voices that were calling for him, his father, and brothers—Elrohir and Elladan, the elven twins of Rivendel, sons of Lord Elrond—and friends, his caretaker, the servants. They'd all been looking for him. And that was where the twins had found him, with his arms wrapped around the stone ankle of Aegnor. He'd gotten a serious talking-to, Elrond had been furious—it was only now, when Aragorn looked back on it, that he realized the elf-lord had been more worried than angry.

Just when Aragorn was thinking about giving up, he caught sight of a large, pitch black stallion, it's coat almost blending in with the night. As he approached, he didn't think he'd have found the man if it hadn't been for the horse, at all.

Viper was lounging on one of the stone benches, on his stomach. His arms were crossed before him on the bench and his face was hidden in them. Aragorn compared him to the like of a cat, his lithe body stretched out languidly. He watched silently as the hooded enigma twisted around and settled onto his side, his arms wrapped around his chest, knees bent slightly, head tilted to lay against the cool stone. He ran his eyes up along Viper's body and found that the perhaps-younger man had some slight yet distinctive curves. He guessed that, under the hood, the other man was quite attractive—and as he wondered why he wore the hood at all, least all the time, Aragorn realized that Viper was asleep. And not even half-asleep as he suspected the man had been during the nights of their journey(it had reached the point where the Ranger wondered if the other even slept at all), but completely unconscious, as one would be if they were in a bed—or as, perhaps, the rare chance that Aragorn might catch his elf friend, Legolas, dozing up in the embrace of a tree.

Viper didn't strike him as one who would sleep so soundly in another's company. He once again was reminded of Tharbadir, and examined the horse closely. The stallion met his stare head-on, and the Ranger was impressed at the intelligence he saw glittering in the animal's sharp, beady eyes. Tharbadir stood up from his place, lying in the grass, and cantered quietly over to the bench Viper slept on, pinning Aragorn with another stare. The Ranger got the message. _Wake him, and face the consequences._

The stallion was apparently overprotective of his new favorite human—if what the stable-hands had told Aragorn held any truth. Tharbadir had been one of the rare spirited horses that the elves began to think a lost cause. The horse just refused to be broken and trained. Then, Viper had come along, wandering through the stables as he explored the grounds of Rivendel. The stallion had taken one look at the hooded mystery and had instantly calmed, bewildering the elves that had been holding him down as he raged in his stall. Once Viper grinned at the elves' questioning glances and had made to leave, Tharbadir began to thrash again. The stable hands had lost their hold on the stallion, and Tharbadir immediately raced after the retreating Viper. The elves gave up on trying to get the stallion back into his stall, and reluctantly allowed him to follow Viper. Aragorn had thought the story quite entertaining.

He held his hands up to show the animal he understood his warning, and Tharbadir calmed, if only slightly. Aragorn hesitantly moved forward, slowly, one step and a time, before sitting on the bench as well, at Viper's feet. He leaned back again the stone pillar the bench was situated before, and examined his traveling companion closely.

Vipers skin was incredibly pale, and very smooth-looking. You couldn't see much of it, thanks to the cloth that covered it up, but when you could, it was almost hypnotizing. It had a slight, almost-silvery sheen in places, reflecting the light and making Viper almost glow. He hadn't noticed it before, as Viper always his his face in his arms when he rested at night. The young man's lips were only shades pinker than his skin, and they glistened invitingly—if Aragorn were female, he was certain he would be staring all night. From what he could see of Viper's nose, it was just the right size for his face, straight and smooth.

The clothes Viper wore contrasted with his skin. Pitch blacks and various shades of gray. Dark brown leather straps for his belt, weapon sheaths, buckles and such. Aragorn raised an eyebrows when he noticed the toes of Viper's boots were covered with steel, as were the heels. He should have known, Viper struck him as one who would quite enjoy hand-to-hand and close-ranged combat.

He was broken from his musings as Viper flinched slightly. He looked up to find the man wrapping his arms around himself tighter and almost shivering, letting out a noise of discontent. Aragorn blinked, before sharing a look with Tharbadir. He didn't pause to mull over the fact of that—he'd just exchanged glances with a _horse_—and reached forward to grasp Viper's nearest shoulder once the black stallion had apparently nodded his permission to touch. He shook once, then jumped back as Viper bolted up, staring at him in surprise. "Strider?" The hooded man yawned, and Aragorn narrowed his eyes to see clearer, just barely catching sight of rows of perfect white teeth and slightly sharpened canines before those full lips closed over them. "Did you need something?"

Aragorn shook his thoughts away. "Not exactly. I was looking for you, actually. Pippin and Merry and the other hobbits wondered why you weren't at the feast. I thought, maybe, that you didn't know where the hall was."

Viper gave a soft, quiet laugh, twisting around. He drew up his knees and hugged them to his chest. Aragorn found the scene to be if only a little endearing. "Ah, no. I have a pretty intricate knowledge of Rivendel's layout, now. I wasn't too hungry, and Tharbadir wouldn't let me out of his sight." He gave a small smile. Aragorn shared a short laugh with the other man, who was quickly becoming a friend, before frowning. Something wasn't exactly right, here. Viper almost appeared sad. "Is something troubling you?"

Viper's head snapped up. "What? No. Why would you think that?" He tilted his head and grinned teasingly. "Are you _worried_ about me, Strider?"

Aragorn didn't relax. "That's not right." He said, and Viper stilled, grin fading. He appeared to frown as well, studying the Ranger. "Something is bothering you. Don't try to hide it like that, Viper."

"Are we friends?" Viper mused softly. "When did that happen, to get like this? I wasn't aware of it."

Aragorn slid closer and placed a hand on the other's shoulder. "It happens, sometimes. Sometimes," he continued, "one will just worm their way into others' hearts, and they will stay there. Much like you have done, and are doing, to all of us, Viper."

"Hearts?" Viper sounded stunned, disbelieving, and Aragorn didn't like it. That tone shouldn't belong in Viper's voice, ever. But he didn't say anything, he only nodded, not breaking gaze with those startling green eyes that he knew were there but couldn't see.

Tharbadir let out a soft snort, bumping his nose insistently against the side of the hooded mystery's head. Viper let out a chaste whisper of a laugh, and let the stallion push him back down onto the bench until he lay in his previous position. And for the second time since meeting the enigma, he slept peacefully in Strider's presence.

oOoOo

Tharbadir liked his new human, he really did. He didn't smell elf or dwarf or hobbit. Not that of a goblin or orc. Actually, he didn't even smell all human! But the stallion _knew_ Viper was, had to be, a human, or had been, or was some variation of one. He had a distinct human scent, laces with a lovely whiff of adventure and stubborn ribbons of danger. The aura that surrounded the hooded not-human-but-not-_not_-human was fresh, carefree, fun-loving and relaxing. When his new not-quite-human spoke, his smooth voice glided through your bones like silk, but deceptively covering steel. That edge, Tharbadir liked that edge. The edge to his new human that he knew not many of the other two-legged beings noticed. But, oh, the other creatures noticed. They acknowledged it, perhaps feared it—not in terror, but in awe. And, still, they approached him anyway! A bit like Tharbadir himself had, was still. But not quite. The animals seemed to be at ease around his... _mystery_, even the predators that normally would challenge such a presence. They felt Viper, they could sense him—and sense him strongly—and were grateful. Viper was a protector. Viper was safe, he was protection.

That was what made his new human interesting. But what Tharbadir saw, worried him. There was also another edge to Viper, not as strong and hidden deep beneath many layers of that silk, not like the steel that lay just beneath, but deep, so deep you wouldn't feel it unless you looked for it, listened for it, felt for it.

Loneliness, sadness, sorrow.

These; they didn't belong with his human.

He wanted them _gone_. Curse those that had brought them in his human, but Tharbadir and even the other animals would do their best to made that soft, unnoticed edge of bitterness and insecurity disappear.

But mostly Tharbadir, of course.

oOoOo

The following morning, Gandalf and Frodo along with a congregation of Men, elves and dwarves sat in a semi-circle around a stone pedestal. The Council had finally met. Aragorn sat proudly in his seat, a few chairs away from the man called Boromir. Viper had decided to stay standing, to the left of his position. Frodo sat to the hooded mystery's left, and Gandalf to the hobbit's left. A party of elves had arrived earlier that week, differing from the Rivendel elves with their silvery and golden hair and different behavior. They were from the Woodland kingdom of Mirkwood. Two stood out to Viper—the apparent leader of the group of Mirkwood elves, and another younger elf that looked surprisingly like him, perhaps a son. Viper assumed they were Thranduil and Legolas, king and prince of Mirkwood respectively. His attention was brought back to the meeting as the Lord Elrond stood to speak.

"Strangers from distant lands," he began, and the Council quieted. "Friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." There was a collective tensing as Elrond uttered the name of the fiery place, and Viper resisted the urge to roll his eyes—although, there was the fact that no one would even see him if he did... So he rolled them anyways. It was like The-Dark-Lord-With-Too-Many-Hyphenated-Names all over again. Fearing a name... He snorted. Aragorn shot him a look, and a few of the guests glanced at him in puzzlement. He hid in the shadows. "Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall."

Viper watched as many of the men exchanged glances, the tension in the garden that the Council was being held in rising. Viper decided to keep silent, despite his annoyance. "Each race is bound to this fate — this one doom."

"Only if you let it," Viper mused, and all heads turned toward him. He blinked, before tilting his head. "Hm? Oh, did I say that aloud? My apologies." He waved a hand for them to continue, and several dwarves hid amused expressions. Aragorn looked exasperated. "Carry on."

Elrond stared at him for a moment, before continuing to speak of their plight. Only Viper—and perhaps Gandalf, but only because he was watching the hobbit like a hawk—noticed the slight smile that Frodo sent his way. He'd known the Halfling was nervous. A break in the tension like the one the enigma had supplied was just what he'd needed. Of course, this relief was short-lived as Elrond soon motioned him forward. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." He ordered, and the hobbit stood up.

"How commanding," Viper whispered to Strider, who shot out a hand and caught him in the gut. To his defense, he only let out a sharp breath and grinned good-naturally.

Frodo returned to his seat beside Gandalf. He seemed relieved once again, perhaps this time it due to being free of the Ring—at least, physically. The members of the Council stared at the Ring, mesmerized by it.

Viper's ears twitched as his sharp, beyond-human hearing caught a breathed, "So it is true..." The hooded immortal turned to see Boromir staring at the Ring with a slightly hungry look flashing in his eyes. Viper frowned. He didn't like _that_.

Someone spoke, Viper didn't catch who. "'Tis the Doom of Men!"

He watched as Boromir debated with himself, before coming to a decision and standing. Eyes turned toward him and he hesitantly walked forward. "In a dream," he began, slowly, "I saw the eastern sky grow dark. But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: 'Your doom is near at hand.'" As he approached the Ring that rested on the plinth. "Isildur's Bane is found." He reached out for the golden circle. Viper's unseen eyes widened as he heard whispers.

"_It's for the good of everyone else. Don't save me, I'm a lost cause, really." A weak laugh. "Focus on everyone else, please? For me?"_

He made a surprised noise in the back of his throat, but even he could barely hear it. Aragorn sent him a concerned glance, nonetheless.

"_Leave her there, son. She's gone."_

"_It's too late. You can't help him."_

"_I'll kill you!"_

_-You want them back-. _The Ring hissed. -_You miss them.-_

"Isildur's Bane," one of them Men murmured. The rest of the Council were beginning to fidget. But Viper didn't hear them. Gandalf and Frodo turned to look at him.

"_Run! Forget about me, you hear? That's a **dragon**, you can't hope to beat it!" But he could! But he **was** able to! But they didn't **know** that... But he would never tell them..._

"_No man is worth your tears," he was pressed up against the door, listening to his friend being talked down to by the boy's master. "I never took you for one, though I now see it. You are a coward."_

_-Maybe you could have saved them all. But you didn't.-_

"Boromir!" Elrond's voice called out warningly. Viper stumbled back as a pain shot through his head. His shields were down, why were they down? They were _always_ up, _always_—

Aragorn leaped up from his seat to catch him.

"_**One Ring to rule them all**—_" He heard Gandalf say. But it was like when Viper spoke with snakes. The language was different, though the words made sense.

"_This isn't an enemy we can defeat."_

"_I'll kill you!"_

_Falling, someone was falling—Viper didn't like falling. It was a thing of his nightmares. Falling, falling through... through what?_

"_I killed Sirius Black, I killed Sirius Black!" Singsong._

_The Veil._

"_**One Ring to find them**__._" The words went on. Strider was shaking him by the shoulders but Viper only clutched his head and groaned. Several others were looking their way, curious, concerned. The dwarves were frowning, then casting the Ring several glares. "_**One Ring to bring them all**__—_"

"_All alone now, how does that feel?"_

_-You are alone. You want them back, you want everything back. But you can't.-_

"_Just a sad little boy, you are." He wasn't young anymore, they had to right to say that!_

_He hadn't been young, truly young, since... forever._

_-You know that. We can change it all.-_

_Condescending looks, they irritated them. He cast them all an unseen glare, but smirked as they shivered under his gaze anyway. He was older than every single one of them!_

"_**And in the darkness—**_"

"_All gone now. I don't see why you still try when you know you won't win."_

_Red eyes._

"_I'll kill you!"_

"_Foolish boy," the other drawled. "You cannot kill—"_

_Green light, green as his own eyes._

"—_what lives forever!"_

"—_**Bind them!**_"

Viper took in a sharp breath and his eyes snapped open. He was on the ground. Had he fallen asleep? Meetings like this always did bore him. Not to death, unfortunately, but—Aragorn held him, looking down in concern. They was a small group of people around him, staring down and hoping for him to acknowledge him. There was Gandalf, right beside Frodo, who was teary-eyes. Soft-hearted little Halfling. And look! Was that Gloin and Gimli? Why were _they_ worried? And Legolas was right next to Aragorn, and Elrond had one hand hovering over his head.

He blinked, then looked up. He knew they couldn't see his eyes, so they might think they were still closed. "Damn piece of jewelry." He gasped. "I hate it."

"Viper?" Their eyes were on his face, now, most likely attempting to see his eyes—even though most knew it was futile. Aragorn leaned closer and Elrond's hand disappeared. Viper could see the other dwarves, most of the men—Boromir was looking lost, as if he wanted to come closer. He had an almost guilty look on his face—stayed back, and Thranduil and the other light-haired elves. "Can you hear me?"

"Most likely." He mused in a light voice, the hate for the Ring that surrounded him all but vanishing instantly. Many blinked in surprise, but Aragorn only sat back and smiled minutely, slight relief crossing his features. "Well," He sat up and tilted his head. That movement assured Frodo, Gimli and Gloin that he was fine, however suddenly. "At least we all know now that Viper, plus One Ring, equals—no. Just..." He waved his hands distastefully. "No." Several chuckled at that. Everyone looked relieved, and Viper tilted his head again as Aragorn helped him stand up and forced the hooded man into his own seat. Had they all been _worried_ about him? Why? "Stop, Strider. I am not sitting in your chair, I don't _like_ sitting."

"You _collapsed_." The Ranger admonished him. "You are sitting—even if I must _tie_ you down!"

"You _know_ the ropes or whatever you use to restrain me will just... disappear." Viper wiggled his fingers and grinned. "_Magically_."

Elrond cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him. Viper instantly grabbed Aragorn by the collar, bolted out of the chair, and shoved the startled Ranger back down instead. He flipped over to the left of Gandalf and hid behind the wizard, two places away from the suddenly steaming Ranger. There were laughs heard all around when the only thing Viper did was stick out his tongue childishly. Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "It was the smartest choice." Viper explained. "I mean, Strider wouldn't _dare_ go after me when there was an old—powerful, but still _old_—man between us." Everyone heard, and Strider himself glared. Even Elrond cracked a smile, before the elf what had just happened, and pinned narrowed eyes on Gandalf, and, consequentially, Viper as well. "Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris!" The suddenly stunned Council resumed their seat, realizing just how effortlessly Viper had shifted their attention. Several glanced at the mysterious man in interest.

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond," Gandalf's voice was still raspy from the use of the other language, "for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West!"

The old wizard cast a scathing glance in Boromir's direction. "The Ring is altogether evil!"

But the sandy-haired man was unperturbed. He smiled, albeit shakily. "It is a _gift_. A gift to the foes of Mordor!" Boromir once again stood, this time nervously. Viper stayed stubbornly behind Gandalf. "Why not use this Ring?" The man began to pace. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

The Steward? Oh, _him_. Yes... Viper didn't like him. Reminded him of Snape, really. But minus the good qualities. Which practically made him the spawn of the devil.

"You cannot wield it!" Aragorn stood up, immediately forgetting his ire at Viper for the moment. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

Viper watched Boromir's eyes narrow in sudden dislike. "And what would a Ranger know of such a matter as this?" He asked.

Viper was about to speak up, and break it to the guy slowly, but an elf—Legolas—chose that moment to stand up and cast Boromir a displeased look. "This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Not as subtle as Viper would have done it, but the hooded man was impressed. It seems the Prince of Mirkwood was quite blunt in such situations. Boromir's eyes widened. "Aragorn? This… is Isildur's heir?" He looked incredulous.

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Legolas added, nodding. Frodo played his part well, looking at Aragorn wide-eyed. Though, Viper mused, that may have been because the hobbit's hadn't been aware Aragorn was heir to the throne... Except Bilbo, maybe.

"_Havo dad_, Legolas." Aragorn raised a hand and cast the elf an expression of thanks. _Sit Down_, Viper mentally translated the words. He probably would have, even if he'd tried not to. It was a habit. He liked translating languages. He'd had a hand in constructing half of them—as he had in every world since his home world, in fact.

"Gondor had no king..." Boromir started. He noticed the uninterested faces of most of the council barring some of the Men, and began to sit down, spitting out once last word. "Gondor _needs_ no king."

"Aragorn is correct." Gandalf spoke. "We cannot use it."

Elrond stepped back, then. "We have only one choice." he told them, after a while. "The Ring must be destroyed."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Gimli jumped up, bracing his ax on his shoulder. He let out a cry and, before anyone could stop him, swung the weapon at the unguarded Ring that lay on the pedestal. Gandalf turned at the last second, looking up at Viper, who had began to laugh.

The dwarf struck the Ring with full force, strength enough to shatter even the dais. But neither the stone podium nor the ring was what shattered, as the ax itself broke apart upon contact with the golden bane of Isildur. Shards of metal went everywhere, and the Ring remained unscathed.

Viper tilted his head as Frodo winced, pressing a palm to his forehead as if he'd caught a headache. The hooded immortal frowned.

After Elrond certified that everyone was uninjured by the flying shards, he spoke again. "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess."He looked each one of the Council in the eyes. Several were not able to keep his gaze. Viper smirked, as the elf was unable to see his eyes. Elrond huffed, almost silently, at him and moved on to Gandalf. This time, it was the elf lord who looked away first, and Gandalf and Viper shared triumphant looks. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came."

_Ash nazg_. The Ring was whispering. Viper tapped his temple subtly, smirking in an almost teasing manner at the piece of jewelry, as if he'd beaten it at it's own game—which he had, somewhat. He shields were up now, at least. He wasn't sure why they'd been down before—but he'd get to the bottom of it soon enough. Then, it felt like the Ring was glaring at him, for besting it. He wanted to laugh.

"One of you must do this." Elrond continued, finishing his speech. There was absolute silence in the garden, even the birds had stopped their song.

Or, there would have been, if Viper hadn't began to chuckle. They ignored him, however, and the hooded ma continued unstilted. "One does not simply walk into Mordor." Boromir spoke up, eyes wide. "It's black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland! Riddled with fire and ash and dust, the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not even with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

Legolas stood, frowning at the man. "Did you not hear? The Ring must be destroyed! How else but in the mountain it was made? Explain to me that!"

"And I suppose you think _you're_ the one to do it?" Gimli leaped form his seat with a glare.

Boromir rose, ignoring the redheaded dwarf's words. "And if we fail?" He asked. "What then? What happens when Sauron takes _back_ what it his?"

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" Gimli roared. The Council immediately dissolved into chaos as the members argued loudly amongst one another, the dwarves shouting their agreements. "Never trust an elf!"

Viper was laughing.

"Do you not understand that while we bicker amongst ourselves, Sauron's power grows?!" Gandalf rose from his seat, and Viper pouted as his pseudo protection from a long-gone angry Ranger was taken. Beside them, to their right, Frodo sat in his own chair, frozen, his eyes glued to the Ring as it whispered. "None can escape it! You'll all be destroyed! "

_Ash Nazg Durbatulûk!_

Viper ignored it. He enjoyed watching the Council run around like beheaded chickens, arguing with one another. Somehow the elves did even that gracefully. It was extremely amusing.

_Ash Nazg Gimbatul!_

He tilted his head, observing Frodo as the hobbit stared at the Ring, looking disturbed. Maybe he could try and teach the little guy Occlumensy. It was rather helpful against most all Dark Lords, after all.

_Ash Nazg Gimbatul!_

He watched Aragorn get in Boromir's face, eyes narrowed as he shot down yet another idea of using the Ring against Sauron. Viper didn't know where those thoughts even came from. How on earth would you use a power of Sauron again the man himself? It was suicide, not to mention idiotic. He turned, and smiled when he saw the slow determination grow on Frodo's face. It looks like he wasn't wrong to follow the young Halfling after all. This was going to be fun.

_Ash Nazg Gimbatul!_

"I will take it!" Viper grinned and waited for the others to actually hear the words. They were all too loud, honestly. But no matter! He now had his source of entertainment—for the century, at least—secured.

"I will take it!" Frodo said again, this time louder. The arguing died down. The members of the Council turned to stare at the young hobbit in astonishment, and Viper saw Gandalf close his eyes, as if Frodo's offer pained him. It probably did. Gandalf was like a muggle-lover, but with hobbits. Viper frowned slightly, and rocked back on his heels, bracing his hands together behind his head and glancing at the sky, which was slightly cloudy. How did that work? Even so, he hadn't been a real pureblood supremest, so he wasn't sure where that comparison had come from. In fact, he'd hated those fools for the first half of his life... quarter... sixteenth of... Well, the first seventeen years. And not even, since he'd been completely ignorant for the first eleven, so... hm.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor," Frodo was saying. "Though—I do not know that way..." He trailed of, looking nervous under their gazes. Viper only grinned and gave him two thumbs up. The hobbit smiled slightly at that.

They all stared silently, some eyes widened. Gandalf slowly began to walk toward the small Halfling. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear." Th wizened old wizard placed his hand reassuringly on Frodo's shoulder, standing beside him now."

Aragorn looked at the two, then moved forward himself. "If by my life, or my death, I can protect you, I will." Joined them and smiled down at Frodo, who looked relieved—though, now he was looking over at Viper with something akin to pleading. The hooded man raised an eyebrows and sauntered over to the group. "Oi, no way in the pits of _hell_ are you leaving me behind! Got that, Halfling?" He looked down teasingly, and Frodo brightened, nodding. Viper grinned, ruffling the younger male's hair. "And, If I am to be honest, I'd have come anyways, even if you'd asked me not to. You are where all the fun will be!" He laughed at the affronted looks many sent him, then. Aragorn rolled his eyes.

"You have my sword." The Ranger told the hobbit, then stabbed his fingers into Vipers torso. The hooded man swatted them away with a yelp. "And _that_ is for escaping with your fancy acrobatics!"

Viper pushed the man away, then sent a grin at Frodo. "Hn. If it means anything to you, you have my daggers as well. Not that you'll need them," he winked, "but I'll let you borrow them sometime, yeah?" Frodo laughed at that, and Viper saw the dwarves look longingly to where his twin weapons were hidden. He sent them all smirks. Gimli waved his hand at him offensively, then began to move forward quickly when he saw Legolas approach the four. "You have my bow, as well." the elf said, gracing the hobbit with a polite bow and offering Frodo's awed look a small smile.

"And my ax!" Gimli raced over to join them, sending the elf a scathing look. Legolas smiled at him with a raised brow, and Viper laughed. "What ax?" The hooded man asked, pointing to the shards that lay on the ground. "That one?"

Gimli looked to where he gestured and reddened as Legolas began to chuckled. The dwarf dashed over to one of his friends—and most likely cousin of some sort—and swiped their weapon, to the other's indignant shout. He swaggered back over with a triumphant look, and Viper began to laugh. "This one!"

"Gimli!" The now-weaponless dwarf shouted. The others looked amused and joined Viper in amusement.

"You carry the fate of us all little one." Boromir spoke form a few feet away. He shot a minute look of dislike toward Aragorn, who returned it, before walking forward. "If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done." He gave a short bow and walked to stand beside Viper—at the hooded man's left, as Aragorn stood to his right. Viper appeared increasingly amused as the two glared across him at one another.

"Hey!" A voice shouted, and most jumped when a small form came barreling out of the bushed. "Mister Frodo isn't going anywhere without me!" Sam shouted, racing to stand beside his friend, Frodo's eyes widened in surprise, but Viper could see that the hobbit was both relieved and worried for his friend.

"No indeed," Elrond spoke, looking almost amused. "it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a_ secret council_, and you are not." Sam had the decency to look sheepish, and the elf-lord sighed.

Viper tilted his head and grinned as two heads popped into view from behind a pair of pillars. "Wait!" Pippin and Merry called, and everyone else spun around, exasperated. "We're coming too!" Viper began to laugh again.

"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!" Merry called, placing a hand on Frodo's shoulder and grinning.

"A potato sack, with potatoes in the sack, but we'd go." Pippin joked, before sharing an amused look with Viper as the other's looked at him affronted. "Just kidding, kidding!" He raised his hands. "Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest… thing." He trailed off and blushed as Viper continued to cackle, clutching his torso. Boromir placed a hand on the swaying man's shoulder and cast the hobbit's an amused look. He and Aragorn supported the laughing immortal, not even realizing they were working together. _I guess, as long as it concerns __**me**_, Viper thought deviously, grin widening.

"Well," Merry said humorously. "I guess that rules you out, Pip." Pippin shot him a dark look, before the two rolled their eyes in unison and began to laugh.

"Eleven members," Elrond mused as soon as Viper quieted down. Boromir and Aragorn were glaring at each other again, he noticed with a smirk. "So be it," the elf nodded eventually. "You shall be known as the Fellowship of the Ring."

The Council all stood, everyone sharing various looks and expressions. Pippin brightened. "Great!" the hobbit said lightly. "So, where are we going?"

Silence. This time, neither Boromir or Aragorn caught Viper as he fell over, laughing loudly. Frodo raised his brows and stared at his friend, trying not to laugh.

"Oh, you know." Viper said, voice shaking with mirth. "We're going on a mission! Quest... _thing_."

Aragorn looked extremely amused and Boromir tried to hide his laughter, and Legolas didn't bother to. Gimli grinned at the hooded man, and the other hobbits laughed. The rest of the Council had their eyebrows raised and were staring at them incredulously. Viper chose this moment to cross his arms. "I don't know why you're laughing!" He admonished them seriously. "This is very important!"

This only caused Gandalf to join in with rough chuckles and the dwarves were roaring in amusement. Even Elrond managed to crack a smile, though he shared a half-concerned look with Thranduil, who looked as if he couldn't believe this was the party that would take the Ring to Mordor, saving Middle Earth. Viper decided to jokingly agree with the King of Mirkwood, and he looked over at Elrond, with a worried look gracing his face. "Are you sure these people should go on this mission…quest…thing, my lord? They seem to have gone around the bend..." He grinned over at the laughing Fellowship. Most of the Council was having trouble hiding their own amusement. Viper finally threw up his hands, mockingly exasperated. "They've all gone made!" He cried, joining in the laughter that he'd started.

_Good,_ the immortal thought, pleased that his efforts were not in vain. _The mood needed lightening. There's no way Frodo will make it if he's so nervous as he was just now for all the journey._

oOoOo

A hand traces runes on a pale slab of stone, nestled in the deep forests of Rivendel. 'Gilraen,' it read '_Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim_.' The hand reached out, pulling a clump of moss from the grove of a letter, wiping leaves and mud from an edge of the stone, pulling free entwining branches gathering over the smooth, stony hands of a statue. After a moment, the hand retreated. Aragorn lifted his head up from where he knelt in the foliage, staring at the face of the woman. His hand paused, before reaching up to caress the face of the statue—a woman with a solemn face, wearing a cloak and hood.

"_She wanted to protect her child._" A voice told him from behind, speaking in the elvish language. "_She thought that in Rivendel, you would be safe_." Aragorn looked away from the statue, watching as Elrond approached him. He spoke again, this time in a more common tongue. "In her heart, your mother knew you'd be hunted all your life. That you'd never escape your fate." He cast a solemn look at his adopted son. "The skill of the Elves can reforge the sword of Kings, but only you have the power to wield it."

"I do not want that power." Aragorn argued softly. "I have never wanted it."

"You are the last of the bloodline." Elrond shook his head. "There is no other."

Aragorn watched sadly as his father-figure walked away without another word. He sat in the darkness for around an hour, just thinking. He'd been born to Gondor's royal line, the blood that run through his veins being some of the last remaining from the men who came from the West. Raised in Rivendel by Elrond himself, growing up with brothers in the twin sons of the elf-lord and a friend in the Prince of Mirkwood. He'd been taught the customs of the elves, and was almost distraught when he first realized that there was no way his ada was related t him by blood. It had broken his heart, but the twins were so focused on mending it once more that he couldn't help but not care about their technical relation any longer. He was loved, here, and that was all that mattered to him.

"Do you regularly spend the nights depressed like this?" Another voice interrupted his thoughts that night. Aragorn once again turned around, this time seeing Viper approaching him. His strides were steady and sure, not halting until he was but a foot away from the kneeling Ranger. "It doesn't suit you, really."

"I don't know how else to react."

"I'm tired," Viper admitted, and Aragorn eyed him warily, waiting. "Tired of reacting like you are. I stopped, a long time ago. Nothings really changed due to that, but I can't seem to return."

Aragorn slowly stood up, staring at the hooded man, who only leaned against the statue and grinned cheekily at him. "So tired... Sometimes I just wanna fall asleep, and _never_ wake up."

"... What happened?"

"Many things," Viper blinked, his grin still in place. It was beginning to bother the Ranger. He knew Viper knew it was fake, and Aragorn knew the other man knew that, _well_, he knew this as well—but the smile was still there. It wouldn't go away. "I want it all to stop, sometimes. I grow tired, so tired. I only wish for sleep—but it never comes."

"What do you do?" Strider asked the other curiously. It was at times like this that Viper amazed him. The apparently young man showed wisdom beyond even Gandalf's years, amongst all of his childish behavior. No one really knew what to make of the enigma.

"Nothing," Viper replied, the grin slipping off. "That's all you can do. Nothing, and _live_."

Viper spun around and walked away. If Aragorn had decided to listen but a moment longer, he would have heard that smooth voice say softly, "I do not _like_ living..."

oOoOo

Viper sat alone in the gardens, save for Tharbadir, who stood behind him without motion, the stallion's black beady eyes staring down at him in rapture. He was on the ground, legs crossed. His elbows rested on his knees and he cupped his face in his hands. He was examining his core, body positioned in a meditative stance one of his mentors had taught him. His core was a sight to behold, but he was the only one who would ever see it—aside from perhaps beings like the Valar, and other Istari, in this world at least. It was a mass of winding energy, sparks running along the surface, the immense feeling growing more intense as you delved deeper. His color was blue, then green, there was some purple, earthy tones, and then the gold. So much gold, it was breathtaking, no matter how many times he saw it.

He was barely aware of the sounds of thundering footsteps as they entered the garden he was in. He didn't move a muscle—he couldn't, or he would only hurt his own mind, and he really didn't want to do that again.

"Where is he?" A voice cried.

"Look for the horse!" Another responded, and the sound of shifting was heard, stocky legs moving around the yard.

"Are you sure?"

"That horse, what's his name—"

"Thar-something!"

"Right, Strider said—"

"His name is Aragorn, remember."

"—He _said_ that the stallion always followed him around!"

"Why would a horse follow Viper around?"

"How should I know? That's what 'e said!"

Ah, so it was the dwarves. Whenever Viper meditated to his core, he always could view the area around him even if his eyes were closed, as they were now. It was like watching his life through a screen, but not being able to do anything. He couldn't even save himself if he was to be taken captive until his meditation was over, and that could take a good hour or more. He really should have chosen a better spot. Perhaps the room that the elves had prepared for him, that everyone knew he hadn't even entered yet. No one would think to look for him _there_.

"Look, there he is!"

"I told you to look for the horse!"

"Beautiful creature, that stallion, lookit him—Oi, what's Master Viper doing?" Tharbadir pinned the group with a irritated glare. Why couldn't they leave his human alone?

"He's just sitting there, look—"

"Viper! Oi, lad, can you hear us?"

"He ain't moving, Thabin."

Gloin, Gimli, and the other dwarves were gathered around him, staring curiously. Gimli reached out to poke, and Viper's body didn't even twitch—except he was laughing loudly inside his mind.

"What's wrong with him?"

"No idea, son. Areib, try shaking him. Maybe he's asleep again."

That's right. Viper was now notorious for napping in strange places. He hand reached out to grasp his shoulder, and Viper watched his body move back and forth. Eventually, the dwarf called Areib lied him down on his back. Tharbadir let out an concerned neigh, before galloping out of the garden and towards the forest.

"He's not waking up, sir."

"Maybe he's sick? Feel his for'head, Rimi!" A sweaty palm clamped over his face, careful not to dislodge his hood. They respected his privacy, that was so sweet. Although, Viper wanted to cringe.

"Ouch! That's hot!" The hand was jerked back. Viper was confused. Really? Huh, maybe he _was_ sick. He never payed his own temperature any mind anymore. He slipped out of his body and watched.

_Ah_, he thought, somewhat amusedly, _I've got to look after myself more. Just because I'm immortal doesn't mean I can't suffer through medical maladies and fatal—far anyone other than myself—wounds._ He mentally reminded himself, before perking up as he sensed someone else enter the garden. Now, his body was lying on the ground, back pressed against the springy grass. His limbs were limp and he really did look, for all purposes, unconscious. Viper mentally bit back a giggle and watched with a growing grin on his spiritual body's face. Soon, the dwarves noticed the newcomer, who was now running over to them with a frown.

"Look, it's Strider!"

"_Aragorn_."

"Go _get_ him."

"Why should I? Look, he's coming _here_."

"What do you think is wrong with Viper, though?" Rimi asked, before Aragorn finally reached them. "What's going on here?" The Ranger cried, kneeling next to the apparently unconscious Viper. He yanked off a glove and slipped his own hand under Viper's hood, before pulling it back with a hiss. Legolas appeared behind him and Viper tilted his head, watching the proceedings with bemusement. They all looked so _worried_. This was weird. Legolas was sent to find Elrond, and he returned with both the elf-lord and Gandalf at his heels. The hobbits soon raced in, and Viper idly wondered why they hadn't taken him to the Hall of Healing, if he was so apparently sick in their eyes. He decided that it was safe to end the meditation, and slipped back into his body.

As the feelings of his own physical soul container returned to him, all at once, Viper was immediately overwhelmed. He felt hot, then too cold. There was a haze around his head, stifling his breathing. His eyes felt like they were burning their way to the back of his skull, and his head pounded as if the oliphants that the hobbits were so taken with had decided it was a good racing ground. He gasped, before biting back a groan as the suddenly humid air made his throat sore. Had he swallowed a lighted torch or not?

"Viper?" Someone was shaking him. Viper wanted to yell t him to stop, but his voice wasn't working. He really had to take better care of himself, honestly. And why did he have to fall ill now? The Fellowship was set to leave in a month! If he was still sick by then, he'd rise havoc at missing his once chance at the adventure of a lifetime—this lifetime. He didn't want to wait another thousand years, really! Fate was such an old hag!

Fate really didn't like being called an old hag, Viper realized, as the pain in his head spiked dangerously. What had he come down with, appendicitis? No, that wasn't right. His side wasn't exploding with unending agony—he'd had that plenty of times before to know what it felt like.

"Bring him to the Hall of Healing," Elrond's quick and calm voice began to shot out orders. Viper felt himself being lifted up. Soon, his back felt soft sheets as he was gently lowered into abed. "Gandalf," Elrond spoke. "Can you tell?"

A withered hand lightly touched his cheek. Viper blinked open hazy green eyes. Aragorn leaned in from his seat on his left and frowned heatedly. Perhaps he'd seen his eyes again, and was upset the vibrant color was dulled.

"Only a bad fever. Parched throat, headache—the fever looks the worst I've seen in years." Gandalf said once he'd taken his hand from Viper's face. "That's all."

"He also looks malnourished, slightly." Elrond mused, frowning, before he turned to Aragorn. "Estel, when is the last time you saw Master Viper eat?"

And Aragorn froze, Viper barley saw, in growing horror. "I... never. Ada, I've never seen him eat." The room grew silent, and Viper suddenly, cursed. _That's right, isn't it?_ He thought. _I've been so focused on avoiding the dining Hall, and by extension the crowds, that I forgot to substitute for meals. I am __**such**__ an idiot._

He heard Elrond take sharp breath, before turning away form the suddenly stiff Ranger—Aragorn was staring down at him with wide eyes in dawning realization, and the elf-lord began to pressed a cold cloth to his brow. "Iaemanor, please go fetch a pitcher of drinking water. Estel, can you take the hobbits from here?"

Aragorn stared at Viper for a moment longer, before casting the hobbits a glance. They were huddled at the edge of the bed, looking on curiously. Their brows creased in worry, hands clenched into fists. "I—yes, of course. Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry." He herded the four out of the room, shutting the door solidly behind him. Viper felt his eyes slip closed. Elrond placed a cool hand over them, and the still-hooded man—Viper was grateful they hadn't taken if off. Hopefully they never did, he _liked_ being nobody—let out a soft groan.

"What have you done to yourself, Master Viper?" Elrond murmured as Iaemanor returned with the water. The elf-lord gently sat him up and the two administrated the liquid into his mouth, Elrond rubbing his throat until he instinctively swallowed. And Viper held back the urge to laugh, knowing it would only pain his throat and chest.

_Lots of things, Lord elf. _He replied. _Lots of things._

oOoOo

_**Alright. Thanks to all this begging I've gotten in the reviews-about fifty, might I add. Just for the first chapter; you guys are really too good to me- I've decided to put up this second chapter for you. I have a bit of an idea to perhaps post a chapter at the beginning of each month, and write during the rest of those months. Perhaps it's because I wanna milk all of you for as many reviews as possible, so I'm gonna say this: If you read this story, please review, even if you didn't like it. Tell me what you thought, so maybe I can write it so you do like it, or if you already do, love it.**_

_**Just as before, I'll ask you to tell me in detail what you thought and what you expect, hope for, or wish wasn't there. Thank you for your time and I hope I can continue to entertain you ;) I might not respond to all reviews, but I do read every single one of them and try my best. So if you review, please make sure your logged in. It will make things easier for the both of us. Also, please keep in mind that I haven't gone over these chapters for spelling or grammar mistakes, and they have not been beta'd as of now.**_

_**Thank you,**_

_**~Scylar X.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**And In the Darkness Bind Them**_

_**Arc One: Lord of the Rings**_

**Chapter Three**

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as bright light filtered into the slit between his lids. He closed them quickly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light around him, before opening them cautiously again. Where was he?

Ignoring the growing pain in his torso—he wasn't sure if it was his stomach, or his chest, or a mixture of both—Viper sat up, noticing he was in a bed. The utter whiteness of the room immediately clued him in on where he was. No matter what world was born, how it grew up, the infirmaries and other medical locations were _always_ white. Blindingly so. Viper bit back a groan. Why him?

The hooded immortal—he thanked his lucky stars that his hood was still up. He hoped no one had removed it while he was unconscious—kicked off the colorless sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, pausing as a wave of dizziness hit him head-on. He sucked in a breath and clenched his teeth, doubling over and bracing his head in his hands, trying not to fall over. _Okay, this isn't working._

With a quick and decisive wave of his hand, the pressure in his head vanished. His torso—it was more the stomach, but the chest hurt a bit too—still ached, but he could ignore it. He'd tried starvation before, and just like everything else it didn't work. That doesn't mean he didn't feel the hunger pains—Oh.

He hadn't eaten since he'd gotten to Rivendel, which would have been about a month or so ago. That's why. He should probably eat soon.

Viper stood up, taking a look around. He was dressed in his usual clothes still, but they were crinkled with sweat form his fever from before. As he freshened them with a quick thought, he wondered why no one had dressed him in the clothes of a patient. Maybe they respected his privacy too much—which was odd, he thought. Healers didn't respect such things, usually. At least, from his experience. This Lord Elrond was weird one.

With one hand pressed against his stomach, he took a few deep breaths before pushing the pain to the back of his mind and vanishing from the room via window. After all, why use doors, which were most likely being guarded and kept under watch, when there was a perfectly good window right there? Viper shook his head as he slipped the glass pane back in place silently. People these days. Honestly.

Now he was making his way down a less-used stone pathway into the gardens. A fresh, cool breeze swept through the outdoors, and to Viper it was heavenly. His skin still felt hot to the touch, and his eyes like molten rock, as if they were trying to burn their way to the back of his skull, slowly. His throat was still sore, but not as dry as before. He tilted his head back and looked up at the sky, before the sound of warring voices caught his attention.

"—not advertise my difference from the rest of the Fellowship? Indeed, you are lucky there are not more Elves here, now, for with one less tolerant than I you would have been shot dead already!" One voice pointed out to the other. Viper swept aside a low wispy branch of a willow tree and leaned against it's trunk, watching in amusement the argument between the elf—Legolas—and Gimli the dwarf as it continued.

"It doesn't change a thing, Elf." Gimli snapped out. "It doesn't change a thing. I am my own Dwarf. I may be proud, but I can admit to it, unlike the perfect, oh-so-blemish-free _Elves__._"

"I've slain more orcs than you could dream; I have been defending Mirkwood longer than your entire family's pathetic life span! You want to insult an Elf? Try me. You think you're a better fighter? Let's see how you feel when you've got one of my arrows sticking out of your back! I might laugh, I might smile, I might be young for my race, but believe me, _Dwarf_... I'm no 'pompous princeling'." Legolas retorted angrily, and Viper slapped a hand over his mouth to cover his snickers.

The two arguing males spun around. Legolas had an arrow notched in his bow, ready for fire, and Gimli already had a hand clutching the handle of his cousin's ax. They both paused, and watched with wide eyes as Viper laughed at them. "For two at one another's throats," Viper pointed out as his mirth died down—encouraged by the searing pain in his throat. Thankfully it didn't change the sound of his voice, yet, or Gimli might just force some cough syrup down his throat. Legolas would help, no doubt. They really weren't all that different from each other. "You make a phenomenal team. Look at you! My, you are quite jumpy after a row."

"Mister Viper!" Legolas cried, racing over to him. He flitted around the hooded man, who was becoming quite bemused. "What are you doing out of the Hall of Healing?"

Gimli huffed as he jogged over to the willow tree, his face scrunched up as he glowered up at the immortal. "Did Elrond let you leave, did he? You do not look very "healed" to me. By the Valar, when I next see that elf lord, he's going to get a talking to—"

Viper watched him rant for a bit, before frowning over at Legolas. "Elrond didn't let me out, I hate infirmaries. I jumped out of the window."

Gimli immediately backtracked, as Legolas appeared much too appalled to answer. "The window! Are ye mad, lad?! What evil possessed you to-to—why did you not just used the door?" The dwarf finished lamely, after spluttering for a moment.

Viper raised a chiseled brow, puzzled at the look of dismay on Gimli's face, and Legolas seemed positively aghast. He shrugged. "Doors are... Well, I just happen to like windows more, I suppose." He replied.

"No!" Legolas yelped, and Viper jerked away from the distraught looking elf. The blond rushed up to him, grasping his forearm. "You have to go back to the Hall of Healing, you're still ill—Mister Viper!"

Viper was confused. He tilted his head. "What's wrong with you two?" He demanded? "I'm fine."

"Uh, no." Gimli tutted. His red hair, heavyset form, and the attitude he displayed now eerily reminded an uneasy Viper of his old friends mother. Now that woman was an absolute demon. Viper turned a grateful face toward the heavens that Gimli only sported not even half of her mother-henning. And, really! He'd expect this from Legolas, maybe, but Gimli? … He could almost see it. Viper shuddered.

Wrong move. Legolas leaned in closer, a look of concern on his face. "Look, you're shivering." The elf pointed out, and Viper immediately ceased his trembling. He decided against explaining his thoughts. Gimli just might behead him for such an insult. Viper shook his head. "No. I'm not cold. See?" He held out his arm.

"You should go back to that infirmary, lad." Gimli huffed, scowling.

"_Hall of Healing_," Legolas corrected decisively, eying the dwarf with a look not too far from contempt.

"Honestly, you are both beginning to crowd me. Please move away." Viper shrank back. Legolas almost leaped away from him, and the hooded man smiled warily as Gimli took a few steps back. "Um, yes. That's... _that_." He spun on his heel and quickly disappeared back onto the hidden pathway, not catching the worried looks that Gimli and Legolas exchanged, for once forgetting their argument.

Viper raced down the edge of the garden, keen green eyes on the look out for a familiar face. Perhaps Aragorn would know why those two had acted so strangely... Perhaps it wasn't he who was ill, but everyone else? Viper shook his head, before scaling up the trunk of a nearby tree with practices ease, his vision finally catching the elusive Ranger's figure. Aragorn was in a clearing, near the river. He swung his sword in practiced swipes, and moved his legs in memorized positions. He was training. Viper pressed a hand to his stomach, which demanded food. He silenced it with a word of magic from his lips, and the pain edged away for a while. "Not yet." he mumbled, leaning forward and dropping from the branched of the tree.

Viper was amused when Aragorn jumped out of his own skin at his call. "'Allo, Strider."

The Ranger spun around, eyes widening when his gaze landed on Viper. "You!" He cried, rushing over, much like Legolas and Gimli had before. "What are you doing here?" He hissed. "You're suppose to be resting, Viper!"

Viper crossed his arms and scowled. "Why? I'm not tired!" He knew he sounded childish—and really, he was practically lying. They could both see how Viper swayed slightly where he stood.

Aragorn looked angry. "No—Viper! No." he waved his arm. They both stopped to stare at his weapon when it almost took a tear out of Viper's arm. Aragorn slowly set it on the ground, before jumping up and pinning Viper with an accusing stare. "Why did you leave the Hall of Healing?" The physically older man demanded.

Viper tilted his head to the side, staying silent. His inhumane hearing was catching small snippets of voices calling out, and shouting for him. His name, being cried all across Rivendel. He frowned. People were looking for him?

"I can't stand sitting in one place for long." Viper eventually explained, seeing how Aragorn was beginning to become impatient. He could hear the calls now, as well. He glared at him. "That's no excuse! Viper—you're not _well_. Ada—Lord Elrond said you'd had a fever, and—" He stopped, casting a short look at the other man. Viper was about to ask him what he wanted, when Aragorn gently slapped a hand over Viper's forehead. He pulled it back with a sharp breath. "Viper... Your fever, is _worse_. Go back to the hall of Healing, you can't be out right now!"

"I _hate_ infirmaries." Viper snapped, leaning away from the man and slapping his arm away. "_I hate them_. I'm not going back, I'm not." He paused, sucking in a deep breath of air. The oxygen seemingly went straight to his head, and he swayed as another dizzying spell hit him. Aragorn caught him before he could fall back too far. The Ranger shot him an intense look. "You are not fine." He stated. "I will take you back myself! Viper, people are searching for you! You can't just—"

"Why?" Viper interrupted, his voice soft. Aragorn paused, listening. "Why are they looking for me? I do not understand this at all." He allowed his legs to give out, and and practically feel to the ground, holding his aching head in his gloved hands. Aragorn slowly knelt next to him, examining him with a careful eye. "What do you mean?" The Ranger questioned.

"Everyone's so _concerned_ for me," Viper tilted his head back and glared up at the clouds that rolled lazily by them. "They are smothering me. I do not like being—I am not... I'm not used to being... I don't—"

Aragorn's glare softened, but he kept his stare. He let out a sigh and put a hand on Viper shoulder. The immortal didn't even notice. "You are... growing on us," He half-joked with a tired smile, before it slipped from his face and he frowned in worry. "Viper, you're becoming something of a friend for all of us here. The others—and myself—enjoy your company. You are fun to be around, and you lighten everyone's moods in these dark times. I myself am beginning to see you as a friend, despite the fact that I practically know nothing about you other than your name and some of your personality. It's confusing for me as well, please understand that, if anything..."

But Viper had tensed halfway through his words. "Friends?" He asked, a cautious tone to his voice that made Aragorn stop and hold his breath. "I'm not—I don't... N-no. I can't... Not again." Viper clutched his head. "No..."

Aragorn looked alarmed. "Viper," he started, feeling the younger man's forehead again. He bit his lip. "You... I think you should go back to the Hall of—"

"No." Viper dismissed his words immediately. "Stop. You are frightening me, Strider." He jumped up, ignoring Aragorn's wide eyed look and dashed off, out of the garden.

"I... _Frightened_? Viper, wait!" Aragorn called after him, but the hooded young man was already gone.

From behind a nearby oak, Boromir watched the mysterious Viper disappear into the forest surrounding Rivendel. He frowned, making his way back to the dining Hall. It looks like he'd have to do something about this.

oOoOo

Everyone had stopped searching for Viper around an hour before. Boromir had gone to Gandalf to ask the wizard what he should do. The others had been there as well, but Gandalf only shook his head. "If he doesn't wish to be found," the wizened man told them, "then you will not find him, my friends."

But Boromir wasn't going to sit around and wait. He already had a good idea of where he would search for Viper, and he stalked out into the forest after shouldering his pack.

He wandered around the brush undergrowth and the tall, shadowing trees until he reached a clearing a good ways into the dense thicket of oaks, near enough to the river that you could hear the faint sound of rushing water. Towards the middle of the clearing, which was a good sized meadow bathed in sunlight, the black stallion that Boromir recognized as Tharbadir—the horse that always followed the hooded enigma he was searching for around—lied, his mane rustling in the soft breeze and the animals head snapped up, beady black eyes zeroing in on the man. Boromir had stepped on a twig.

The son of Denethor held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and the stallion tossed his head, neighing softly. Boromir was surprised, he'd never heard a horse that quiet before—and from the description the elven stable hands had given him before, at dinner one night, Tharbadir was anything but a quiet horse. Then he caught sight of the black-clad form that lay curled up at the stallion's side, and he let out a breath. Of course. He wasn't sure, but it sounded like Tharbadir might be quiet for a sleeping Viper.

Silently, he slowly approached the two, hands held up still and making sure to stay in Tharbadir's sight. From what he'd gathered, the stallion, was mighty protective of Viper, for reasons unknown to the many inhabitants of Rivendel. It was just something that _is_. He set his pack on the ground with a near-silent thud, and locked eyes with the _guard_.

Tharbadir blinked once, before tossing his head, mane snapping in the wind. Boromir took on step back, then to the side until he was standing over the sleeping Viper, gazing down at him. Viper's breaths were shallow and it looked as if the younger man was having trouble breathing. He saw a bead of perspiration trail down the side of the man's face and disappear into Viper's collar. Boromir cast one more look at the still silent Tharbadir before plopping down near Viper's shoulder, and placing a hand on the dozing man's forearm, shaking him slightly.

Viper took in a sharp breath, his face scrunching up as if he was in pain, and he let out a hurt sound, somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Boromir froze, blinking. Then he frowned in worry. Viper really should be back in the infirmary. Feeling only slightly bad, he shook Viper once again, a bit rougher. Viper let out a cough, tilting his head back. Boromir caught a flash of glittering green from the corner of his eyes as he helped the man sit up. Viper let out a breath and eventually slumped against Tharbadir's side in defeat. He looked up at the silent man. "Boromir." he greeted, and they both winced slightly. Viper's smooth vice was breathy and had a slight raw-tone to it. "What do you want? Are you going to ask why I left the Hall of Healing, like the others?" The younger man buried his face into Tharbadir's clean, silky coat, laughing bitterly. Boromir frowned, placing a hand on Viper's shoulder.

"No." He sighed. "I wanted to ask why you're running away."

Viper jerked his head up to meet Boromir's eyes. Boromir wasn't able to catch any flash of green this time, to his disappointment, but he somehow met the unseen stare. "... I am not running away." Viper retorted, finally, looking away from his gaze. Boromir let out a breath and shook his head. "Aye, you are. I overheard you telling Aragorn that he was frightening you—" here, the man clenched his fists as if the very thought made him want to pummel the Ranger into the ground, but he kept his voice steady as he continued, "and it struck me as odd. Not that it's something you should be ashamed of, or anything," he added quickly at the sidelong glance Viper threw at him, "but I just wanted to know why, how he was frightening you. What... what are you afraid of?" There, that was what he wanted to say.

Viper stayed silent for a moment, and Boromir sat and watched him. The younger man's breaths were ragged, and it looked as if it was growing harder for him to breath. The musty air in the meadow they were in must not be helping at all, Boromir mused. Viper was shivering, in a cod sweat, and Boromir scooted closer, instead placing his hand on Viper's head as if he was a small child—and sometimes, that was what they compared him to. Viper, childish, the mind-set of a kid, they were all growing to enjoy his company—you couldn't help but not.

"This," Viper eventually sighed, and Boromir focused on listening intently. "I... Every friend I've made, I've had to watch them die," the hooded mystery admitted, and the Son of Denethor sucked in a breath, eyes wide in horror. He wanted to say something, but Viper went on, still talking, faster.

"I-it hurts. I'm afraid to get close to anyone. I know they'll die sometime, before me—it's like a curse, or something." Viper laughed bitterly, his breath tight and it sounded painful. Boromir winced in sympathy. "It's depressing. There... There was a time when I didn't even think I could use my own two legs to walk. I didn't have the heart to even move. That's part of the problem here, I guess." Viper continued, seemingly choosing his words carefully. "It is..." he paused, hesitant, before going on. "Ever since then, when I... cured myself of that—not being able to even move due to my own depression—I can't sit still. I'm _afraid_ to sit still, like everyone is ordering me to now. I am frightened, because... I don't want to return to that state." He turning toward Boromir. "It m-must be silly to you, I suppose, but—"

"No," Boromir cut in, voice soft. "It isn't. I can't say that I understand what you are going through, Viper, but..." He bit his lip, placing a hand on the exhausted man's shoulder, while his other stayed on his head. He was practically embracing the younger now. He just noticed only now how small Viper's lithe body was compared to his own. "You can call me a friend. Please? I won't say that you can't expect to watch me fall, like you have your other companions—but I will be here for you. Please accept that, in the least."

Viper stays silent, leaning into his hold. Boromir sighs, reaching out a free hand to tug his pack nearer. He lied Viper against Tharbadir, who still kept a silent watch, breathing steadily. Opening his pack, Boromir brought out several wraps of food. Bread, cheese, vegetables—some things he'd liberated from the kitchens to the left of the dining hall. He tapped Viper on the shoulder, ignoring the groan. "Here. I've brought you some food. I won't let you sleep again until you eat half of it—and I'll eat the other half. Agreed?"

Viper held his breath, staring up at him, before giving a curt nod. He let out a huff and grabbed a roll and some cheese as Boromir pulled out two water skins. One held water, the other held wine. He held the one with water up to Viper's chapped lips and helped him drink it. Once it was empty, Boromir watched attentively as Viper ate all the food he'd brought, however slowly, as he himself ate the rest. Once Viper was finished, he began to cough, throat dry.

"Here, this is wine." Boromir held up the other water skin. Viper drank it slowly, pausing a few times to take in shallow breathes. He coughed afterward, before groaning again and curling into a ball, hiding his face in Tharbadir's coat. Boromir began to pack away the empty water skins and leftover clothes that the food had been wrapped in, before closing the pack. He leaned over and lifted a now unconscious Viper into his arms and surveyed the lazing Tharbadir. The stallion cast him a look, before seeming to get the message, and stood. Boromir carefully lied Viper on the horse's back, thankful that the stallion kept so still, before climbing on behind him. Once he was sure they were both secure, Tharbadir took off towards the gardens of Rivendel.

As soon as they entered the one nearest to the forest, Aragorn raced up. He'd been sitting on the edge of a marble fountain that had scenes carved into the sides, from battles and ceremonies sacred to the elves. The Ranger practically fluttered around them like a mother hen, attempting to get a look at Viper. Boromir slid off of Tharbadir's back and, with a curt nod at the stallion, lifted the unconscious Viper into his arms. He slowly turned and shot Aragorn a look. "Listen, Ranger." he said shortly. "His fever is much worse than before. I got him to eat some food, and drink some water and wine, but now he is asleep again. Is the Lord Elrond in the infirmary?"

Aragorn looked annoyed with his tone of voice, but ignored it in favor of checking Viper over. "Yes," he snapped quietly. "He is in the Hall of Healing. They're waiting for you to bring Viper there."

Boromir nodded sharply, striding out of the garden toward the halls of Rivendel. He made his way through the halls and entered the medical wing. Elrond, a group of elven healers, Gandalf, and the hobbits all looked up as he entered.

"Viper!" Pippin cried, and the Halfling jumped up. Elrond and Gandalf right behind them, they raced over and accompanied him as he set Viper down in a nearby bed. "His fever's worse." Boromir reported, sitting in the chair next to the bed. "We talked. I made him eat some food, and he drank a water skin of wine, and one of water. That's all I could do before he fell asleep again."

Elrond nodded in acknowledgement, examining Viper's prone form closely. Boromir shifted in his seat as the healers rushed about, fetching a basin of cool water and cloth. Someone tugged on the hem of his shirt and he looked down to see a nervous hobbit gazing up at him. "Is Mister Viper okay, Mister Boromir?" Sam asked tentatively, glancing over at Viper. The other hobbits fidgeted behind him Boromir stared down at them, before nodding slowly. He began to lead them out of the room to give the healers space.

"He'll be alright, I'm sure." The son of Denethor replied quickly. "After all, these elves are the finest healers in Middle Earth. There's no need to worry about our friend."

_Except, everyone is, anyway. Including myself._ Boromir thought mirthlessly, as he herded the squirming hobbits from the Hall of Healing.

oOoOo

His eyelids were incredibly heavy, this time around. He mused that, perhaps, they had him under drugs so he wouldn't escape—after his last trick, he suspected they were worried he would attempt to leave again. As his head cleared, Viper was relieved to find that he was feeling much better than before. His mind wasn't swimming in molasses, and he could actually breath now. His stomach still ached, but his chest no longer burned with the need for air.

Viper waited a second or so, getting his bearings, before he shot up and looked around the room. Elrond, Gandalf, the elf named Glorfindel, Boromir, and Aragorn stood around his resting place. Aragorn had his arms crossed, a strange look on his face, and Elrond looked down at him sternly, his sculpted eyebrows making the look all the more intense. Viper resisted the need to sit up straight and clasp his hands, before bowing and reciting that "_Ohaiyo, sensei,_" he remembered doing a few millennium ago, in a world stuck in a sort of feudal era.

Gandalf's eyes were twinkling so brightly, Viper wanted to gauge them out and stick them on to ceiling of the dining Hall, they reminded him of the stars that twinkled above when he'd eaten dinner as a child. It was irritating. _Stop... twinkling, dammit!_

Glorfindel had his arms crossed in a similar fashion to Aragorn, but his face held a smug look, as if you say "_I'm free and you're not_." Viper wished he'd eaten before—because then he'd be able to walk up to that smug, taller-than-him blond and _give_ it to him. _He deserves a defeat_, Viper thought, _the prat._

"Mister Viper," Elrond finally spoke, when Viper had calmed down slightly. "I am here to inform you that you will _not_ be leaving this hall until you are _completely_ healthy once more."

Viper straightened indignantly, a look of horror on his face. Aragorn appeared to be trying to hold back a small smile of amusement—that bastard! _Traitor_!—but Boromir cast him a immensely pitying look. Viper threw his arms around himself and pouted dramatically, like a child. _Hide it, hide it, hide it. _His mind shouted, his instincts howled._ They can't know you're absolutely terrified at the prospect of staying cooped up in here! _He only hoped Boromir wouldn't tell. Now he wished he hadn't spoken to Boromir, never had that little heart-to-heart. He hadn't confided, _truly_, in _anyone_ for... a long time.

He shot a small glare at the sympathetic look on Boromir's face, and the man of Gondor shook his head slightly. Viper relaxed, if only a bit. Good, then. He hadn't told anyone. _Yet_.

"You're joking," Viper apparently decided, eventually, and Elrond shared a look of amusement with Gandalf and Glorfindel. Before anyone could say anything, Viper let out a scoff and pointed an accusing finger in the golden-haired elf's direction. "You. I don't like you." Glorfindel and the others looked surprised at his admission, but Viper wasn't done. "Therefore, I'll come up with an irritating nickname to call you insistently, and annoy you into oblivion. I think... _Glorfy_ will do, yeah?" He tilted his head, then grinned triumphantly at the resigned look of drawn out dismay on the elf's face. Elrond, Gandalf and Boromir shared chuckles, while Aragorn raised an eyebrow—but Viper's eyes only zeroed in on the faint blush in the man's cheeks. His eyes widened and he let out a gasp, before pointing his finger again, at the Ranger this time. "_No_. Don't tell me... _No_!" He grinned brightly, cackling. "When you were a child, you grew up here, _did you not_? And you called the pompous prat over there that name, _didn't_ you?" He lied back in the bed, pressing his hands to his chest as he laughed. Glorfindel looked affronted at the insult, while Aragorn just looked embarrassed. Boromir covered a laugh with a cough, and Elrond looked indulgently amused. Gandalf leaned forward onto his ever-present staff, eying the laughing Viper.

"Nice try," is all the wizard said, before Viper stopped laughing and stared at the ancient looking male. He blinked, before huffing. "Hey! I _almost_ got you all distracted. That wasn't fair, old man!" The others stopped to star at the two.

The Istar shook his head. "You are a master at diverting the attention of others, Viper, but you cannot distract me. You seem uneasy at the long wait to leave at your recovery. Would you mind elaborating?"

Viper hunched over, glaring at his hands. "I... do not like being forced to sit still. I hate being in one place for _that_ long, _so_ long..." He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "A compromise, then. I stay until the fever's gone and my throat is healed, that is it. Any attempt to keep me here afterwards will be avoided, and you will _not_ see me again until the fellowship leaves."

Aragorn and Boromir looked alarmed, and Gandalf shared a startled look with Glorfindel and Elrond. The elf-lord stepped forward after a moments thought. "Very well," He said, rather reluctantly. "However, you must attend all meals in the hall when you are released from here, do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Viper gave the elf a salute, before falling back in the bad, tilting his head to glance at the ceiling.

"Why didn't you eat before, Viper?" Aragorn finally poke up softly, and everyone looked at the hooded man with curiosity.

"Oh... that?" Viper shrugged. "I forget things like that all the time, really. It's nothing uncommon."

Glorfindel made a noise of disbelief. "You are saying that it is not unusual for you to forget to eat, for as long as you have now?" The blond elf shook his head. "I cannot see this."

"Well, it is the truth, _Glorf_." At their looks, Viper shrugged once again. "I decided to change it, since Glorfy appears to already have been taken, by a young Strider." Aragorn blushed again, staring at the floor with his hands clenched into fists.

"How have you survived as long as this, I wonder?" Elrond asked in no small amount of horror. Viper only shook his head. "Honestly? I do not wonder at all." He took in a breath and gazed up at the ceiling. The others wanted to asked more, but at the slightly sorrowful air surrounding the hooded enigma, they kept silent

"Why do these kinds of places always have to be blindingly white? Why not a nice, comforting color, like... I don't know, green?"

They just looked at him, amused. Viper huffed in annoyance.

oOoOo

The moments the doors opened, the shouts and yells began. The hobbits waved him over to their table excitedly but the dwarves were roaring and pounding their fists on the table as they gestured him toward an open seat at _their_ table. The elves—sans Legolas, the twins, Glorfindel and Elrond—and the Men who were visiting started at the sudden and unexpected noise and spun around wildly until they saw him standing there in the entrance. They graced him with confused looks, the Mirkwood elves appearing especially bewildered—but Legolas just offered him a smile and went back to his meal, snapping his fingers to bring his father's attention back to their conversation.

Viper wondered what was so special about himself—other than the very obvious characteristics that set him apart from them _all_, but he was absolutely _certain_ that they didn't know any of that—and cast them all a smile. This needed to be solved. Elrond looked like he was getting a headache. He cast his emerald gaze around the hall, searching, until—right there! That elf, what was his name? Hadn't he met him before?

_Oh, that's... _"'Allo, Erestor!" Viper called cheerfully as he very pointedly sat down next to the young elf, who sat the Elrond's left. The dwarves let out disappointed boos and the hobbits all wilted. He sent the lot a cheeky grin before turning back to Erestor, who smiled shyly in return. "How has your day been?"

"It has been lovely, Mister Viper," Erestor replied, handing him the platter of pork. He accepted it gratefully and forked some onto his plate, mindful of the close eyes that Elrond, Boromir, Aragorn and Gandalf were keeping on him. He decided to add a bit more just to appease them. "I heard that you only just got released from the Hall of Healing, correct?"

"Mmm, yeah." Viper nodded, swallowing his potatoes. "I hated it in there. I honestly believed I was going insane. All that white—why can't you elves paint the walls with some color?"

"Are you still going on about that?" Glorfindel asked from Viper's left, reaching over him to grab a spare roll.

"Yes, Glorf." Viper rolled his eyes, the motion ever-unseen to the others around him—but they could tell he was doing just that, anyway. "I _am_, and it is very important! I don't know how you've remained sane with just... all of that... _white_-ness..." He shuddered, and Erestor chuckled as he spooned some corn onto his own plate.

"Glorf?" The dark-haired elf asked, trying to hold in a laugh. Glorfindel glowered at the hooded man as he laughed outright. "Oh, yes! I am not very fond of our blond fellow here. I decided to give him an embarrassing nickname. _Sadly_," he smirked. "'_Glorfy_' was already taken..." He grinned over at Aragorn, who sat to Glorfindel's left. The Ranger blushed red.

"Are you just going to tell that to _everyone_ now?" The man asked, spluttering. He'd been taking a sip of his wine when he'd overheard Viper's words. The aforementioned enigma only shrugged, grinning.

"Ah, yes," Erestor smiled. "I remember that. You adored Glorfindel when you were a child. He was your hero, wasn't he, Estel?"

Aragorn mumbled something into his goblet, face beet red as Viper cackled onward. "Sorry? I didn't quite catch that..." Viper leaned forward.

Aragorn stared at him, before shaking his head and pushing Viper's head down toward his plate. "I... just... _eat_ already!"

Viper laughed at him, lifting a forkful of pork into his mouth with a eerie grin. "_Yessir_."

The rest of the meal was spent like that; bantering back and forth between the three as Erestor and sometimes Elrond watched on in amusement. They all forced Viper to eat until his stomach began to hurt again. Eventually the hooded man groaned. "Enough!" he cried dramatically. "I'll explode."

This was said with such a serious tone that they couldn't help but laugh. Viper sent them a pout before escaping to the gardens to feed Tharbadir an apple.

"He's like a child," Glorfindel stated, shaking his head.

"He really is," Aragorn agreed.

oOoOo

It was at times like this that Viper wished he didn't have anything to hide. There were these few people in each world that could just _look_ at him, and make him want to spill every secret to his very existence. Unfortunately for him, Gandalf the Gray was one of them few people.

"Simply a mystery," Gandalf mused, his eyes twinkling again, and Viper felt a pain dulled with many millennium of time and mourning spike in his chest. He didn't think the old man—not as old as _him_, he knew—knew how _much_ he reminded him of his mentor, how much it _hurt_ to look at the Istar. He was certain that, if Gandalf had known, he would try his best to sooth Viper's pain. The wizard just seemed like that kind of person, to him.

"A mystery?" Viper instead asked with a grin. He was a professional at masking any and all of his thoughts, emotions, feelings. "I do love a good mystery, old man. Those I can solve splendidly." And he could, it wasn't anything to boast about. He'd been a well-renowned master detective in one of the past worlds. One time, in a Time Twist(that's what he called those worlds that completely repeated a past world. There could be one world, say, and then it and it's entire history would be repeated a few worlds later—he really loved playing around in a repeated world, seeing what he could change and mess up, since he already knew what would happen beforehand. One time, he'd posed as a seer, and no one could prove him false, _that_ had certainly been entertaining) he'd been a very close friend of one Sherlock Holmes. Those times were fairly enjoyable for him.

"I'm not sure," Gandalf went on. "Actually, you may already know everything to do with it."

"Oh?" Viper inquired, raising an eyebrow, despite the fact that he knew—oh, he _knew_—what this so-called mystery(and it really was such a thing, truly) was, already.

"Why, it's you, my boy!" _My boy_. Viper tried his best not to flinch. Why wasn't he over this? It had been _millennium_ since! "You, you're an intricate puzzle—everyone here, I can tell you—is interested in solving you."

"Ah." Viper mused softly. "But, dear Istar, you all fail to see the reality. I believe I am a few pieces short of a puzzle. Many of them are, hm, _missing_, you could say."

Gandalf looked as if he wanted to say more, but the short blur that raced into the garden and over to them interrupted him. "Gandalf!" Frodo cried, his face pale. Viper unconsciously straightened—the hobbit looked utterly _terrified_— "Oh, you should have seen, he-he was... it was _dreadful_, absolutely _horrible_—!" The young Baggins' breath came in short gasps, and he paused a moment to take a large gulp of air. Viper stepped over quickly.

"Halfling?" he questioned, voice wary. "What is it? Something wrong, is there?"

Frodo shook his head, so fast Viper thought it might topple off an onto the ground. "Bilbo, he—I mean, I wasn't... I tried—didn't know that—"

"Hush, my dear lad." Gandalf soothed the hobbit calmly, worry present on his weathered face. "Please, tell us what troubles you so?" He looked pained.

"It was frightening," Frodo whispered once he'd caught his breath. "Bilbo—he... giving me some things to help me on the journey. The mithril shirt!—He, I mean, I unbuttoned my shirt to try it on like he asked—Gandalf! He saw the Ring, and... and he _looked_—Oh." The hobbit sobbed. "Gandalf. A monster. A monster!"

As Gandalf spoke with the hobbit, Viper was having a mental war with himself. He felt really worried for Frodo—_concerned_! That didn't make any sense. He felt bad, wanted to make Frodo feel better, wanted to fix things. This shouldn't be happening! _Where did these thoughts come from? He's not my friend, __**none**__ of them are my friends! Stop it, stop it, stop it—_

He decided that the only way to stop these new feelings was to fix the problem at hand. Maybe if Frodo looked more comfortable, he wouldn't think like this.

"He—it is as if he's _called_ to it..." Frodo was whispering hoarsely, and Viper saw a look of worry overcome Gandalf's features. "Oh dear..." The old wizard muttered.

Viper tilted his head. "Hm? Called to what?" He asked lightly. Frodo spun to look at him, brightening up just that much. "Viper!" Then the hobbit drooped again. "It's Bilbo. He... he saw the Ring, and he was.. so scary." Frodo shivered, glancing up at him pleadingly. "The Ring, it's like it is calling to him. He tried to hurt me, he wanted it!" Tears were gathering in the Halfling's eyes. Viper knelt down to his height and shook his head. "Well, that won't do, will it? It looks to me like Bilbo's mental shields are little to none!"

Frodo looked up again, confused, and Gandalf regarded him curiously, if not cautiously. "Mental shields?" The hobbit asked. "What are mental shields?"

"They are... Hm..." Viper paused in thought. How would he describe Occlumensy to these people, especially since it hasn't existed in such a defined form in this world? "Something I made up." He decided on lying, slightly. "You see, my mind's a really dark place. Sometimes so much that it scared me. I don't like it, so I developed a method to protect myself from my own thoughts and nightmares—and to protect my mind form any outside force trying to get in and cause harm or do anything else. Like the Ring. It enters your mind and whispers promises, seduction to you, does it not?" Frodo nodded, eyes wide, and Gandalf sat down, listening intently as he went on. "What I created is the art of defending the mind against external penetration, sealing it against intrusion and influence." Viper shrugged at their looks. "I was tired of my own mind. I know it's sad, but I can think _clearly_ now... I'm mostly sure that I can set up some shields around Bilbo's mind for you. They will only fall once I am too far to hold them up—and I am not leaving until you are, which means, Frodo, that when the shields do fall, the Ring will be far enough away to not even have a chance at grasping Bilbo's mind."

"Do it!" Frodo cried, before pausing and glancing over tat the silent wizard. "Gandalf? Can..."

"I think it is best," the bearded Istar admitted after a few moments staring intently at the oblivious Viper. He seemed mightily interested. Viper jumped back up with a grin. "Great! Very well," he turned to Frodo and swept out a hand. "Lead the way, _Halfling._"

You would think, such a name said in such a tone would be offensive but—when the word came from Viper's lips, anyone would seem alright with it. Frodo certainly was. He... _trusted_, this person.

oOoOo

"Your favorite color?"

"Erm—green?"

"Right. The name of the first pet you ever had?"

"Ah," the old hobbit blushed. "Porky."

Viper grinned, as the others looked on confused, having absolutely no clue what was going on. "I assume it was a pig, then?"

"N-no," Bilbo spluttered, embarrassed. "It was a calf."

Viper cackled.

"Ah, Mister Viper?" Legolas interrupted, bewildered. "Why are you asking him these questions?"

"Mmm..." Viper tilted his head, before huffing. He spun around to face Bilbo and gave the hobbit a demonic grin. "No matter. It's my turn." Bilbo gulped, and the others looked alarmed. "Ready?"

"I don't think—"

"When you were seventeen, you almost died from a nasty cold, thanks to your supposed best friend pushing you into the largest river of the Shire. You were rescued by Farmer Maggot and remained bedridden for weeks on end. You and that particular "friend" never made up."

Bilbo gaped openly. "Ah—yes, that's _right_... H-how—"

Viper held up a finger and continued. "Beginning in the autumn of your twenty-fifth year in this world, and continuing without end until your forty-ninth, the thing you were most and utterly terrified of was the opposite gender, due to the fan-clubs the nearby female hobbits established—'_For the protection and safety of Bilbo Baggins we will accomplish all,_' was their motto."

Bilbo responded to this with a horrible shudder as Frodo was looking very entertained—"Merry and Pippin'll get a kick out of this," his breathed, and Legolas and Aragorn shared bemused looks with Boromir and Gimli. Erestor looked on, puzzled yet interested. Viper let out a cackle. "Don't worry. I understand. Fan-girls are one of _the_ most horrible terrors known to the universe—very deadly, they are. There's no need to be ashamed." Bilbo only nodded mutely, looking shocked at the hooded enigma's knowledge of his life; event's he'd never shared, with anyone before. "How—"

"_Ah-ah_!" Viper chastised him, before grinning. "Last one, I'll tell you. You were nine—quite a long time ago, this was." Bilbo suddenly went deathly pale and Viper seemed to pause, glancing around the room at the others, who stood in stunned silence, before leaning closer to Bilbo and speaking in a staged-whisper, "I'll not truly say this one aloud, since I think you'd best like to keep it entirely under wraps, so I'll only say five words—you'll know what I mean."

Bilbo nodded shakily, "O-okay..."

Viper smirked. "Madam Margarete's silk—"

"No!" The aged hobbit lunged forward, slapping a wrinkled hand over the grinning young man's mouth. Viper was cackling. Bilbo panted, face read in utter humiliation. Frodo's eyes gleamed with a strange light, and everyone else just looked flabbergasted.

"Bilbo, my friend, what are you—"

"Don't you dare!" Bilbo yelped, pinning the laughing Viper with a look, before sheepishly turning and facing the bewildered Gandalf. "Ah, Gandalf..." he started out, voice trembling. "Y-You remember the Lady Marge's silk drawers..."

Gandalf's face took on a look on reminiscence, before he broke out into a humorous smile. "Ah, yes," he chuckled. "I had forgotten."

"Liar," Bilbo grumbled. "You do not truly forget anything, you old—"

"Oh!" Frodo brightened, before he burst into laughter. "_That_! I remember _that_!" He crumpled in on himself, laughing heartily. The others watched on, Erestor, Elrond and Glorfindel stood at the doorway, brows furrowed.

"Yes, that." Bilbo snapped. "And you swore never to tell a soul." Frodo looked disappointed, before he perked up and graced Bilbo with a mischievous grin. "Ah, but, Bilbo! I hadn't known—you looked so embarrassed, it was written all over your face, you _sly_ hobbit—"

Bilbo spluttered, and Aragorn and Boromir shared wide-eyed looks as they connected the dots. Legolas's eyebrows shot up, realization flitting across his face. The young elven prince then turned to stare at Bilbo with a look of morbid fascination. The hobbit remained red.

"Ah, but young Frodo," Viper spoke up, his voice muffled by Bilbo's hand. The hobbit jerked it back, and Viper gave them a cheeky grin. "I wouldn't be talking. You don't have anything to say, really, what with you and the Lady's niece—what was her name... Emily?" Frodo's face gained a look of complete horror, before Viper had a Halfling bouncing over to him, both hands clapped over his mouth. "Don't you say it, don't you say it!" Muffled laughter was his response.

Everyone looked quite bewildered, and Frodo stared at Viper in some sort of fascination. "H-How did you know all that?" The Halfling asked. "Only Bilbo knew about Em—Um, _Emily..._ and he's never told me _those_ stories!"

Viper rose up and hopped onto another chair, sitting with his legs crossed and his hands gripping the edge of the seat. They tensed. Viper was known to surprise you with his fancy acrobatics at any given moment, and he was in just the right position to flip into the air—they didn't know how he could, from _that_ position, but it was Viper; he was known to accomplish the impossible The gloved hands came together in a clap, and they relaxed only slightly. "Time for that, later." The hooded man told them. "Let's all take a in-depth study of the Ring's most simple function, yes?

"We all know that is one dangerous piece of jewelry—shiny, but dangerous, yes it is. It can peruse your thoughts and dreams, seduce you and convince you that it can give you anything; I don't know why you'd believe it, I mean, what can a ring do but look pretty on one's finger? Honestly, I think this world's coming to an end, it's inhabitants are so gullible—you are!" he insisted, at their offended looks. He sighed dramatically, bracing his hands behind his head and leaning back. "To do that, though, the Ring has to know what one wishes for, your deepest desire. To know those, it must enter your mind. It shifts through your very thoughts when you come into contact with it, choosing the wisest to manipulate, the one dream that would convince you that submitting to it's will would be the correct thing to do, the way to get what your heart desires." He turned to the elder hobbit. "Bilbo, you wished to know how I knew all of those, rather _secret_, things about you, yes?"

The hobbit nodded hesitantly, and Viper gave him a grin. "Well, I did exactly what the Ring does."

Silence was what greeted his admittance. Until Gimli leaned forward, his beard trembling with his emotions. "_What_?!" he bellowed. Viper flinched back ever so slightly, but only Aragorn, Elrond, Gandalf and—surprisingly—Glorfindel saw it. They frowned. "Wh-what do you mean, you did what the Ring did? That _accessory_," he flung a finger to the chain that disappeared into Frodo's collar, and the hobbit shifted his shirt to cover it nervously, "is _evil_, Viper!"

"Yes," Viper agreed, and they shot him disbelieving looks. The hooded man gave the appearance of rolling his eyes, before placing a hand on his chest. "But _I_ am not."

This time, only Glorfindel and Aragorn heard the slight hurt in his voice, at the thought that they believed him to be evil. Aragorn's heart ached. He wanted to rush forward and tell the enigma that, _no_, that _wasn't_ true at _all_, they'd _never_ think that—but he kept silent. He could speak with him later. He'd have never guessed Viper held insecurities like this, he mused to himself a bit sadly, but Viper was only human, wasn't he? Everyone had such feelings. Viper would be no different. He wasn't sure why he'd thought the man would. He was expecting too many amazing things, and miracles, from his new friend. This was _wrong_...

"Of course not," Gandalf instead assured, and Viper tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing them. "Just... _how_, may I ask?"

"Yes," Viper nodded, before he shifted in his seat and hummed, almost uncomfortably. "It is just something I taught myself. I am not entirely sure where it originated from, in me, but I can do it. I had to establish that connection with Bilbo's mind, first—that is the reason I knew such things, Halfling. Now that I have made the connection, I can begin building the shields."

"Building?"

"Yes, it's like building. Brick by mental brick, if you would. Although, my own mind had so much more _complicated_ defenses," he graced them with a smirk. They shuddered collectively, imagining what defenses he'd erected—but they still didn't know enough of the subject to rightfully make an image. That only made it more terrifying. Except, Frodo was still a ways back in the conversation. "But, what about me?" He blurted, then blushed as Viper looked at him curiously "I mean, you knew about Emily!"

"Only because Bilbo knew." Viper explained, and Frodo breathed out a breath, his face smoothing out from it's previously scrunched-in-confusion position. "Oh," he mumbled simply.

"Now!" Viper clapped his hands again, then braced them on the edges of his seat again. Before they could think of tensing, he gave a laugh and flipped into the air, landing before Bilbo, reaching out, he gripped the hobbit in a vice like grip and peered into his face. Bilbo struggled for a moment, until he glanced into the shadows of Viper's hood—and his eyes glazed over.

The others in the room were frozen as time passed on. Frodo looked unsure, fidgeting hesitantly. Boromir and Aragorn migrated a few feet closer as Legolas remained near the back, observing the two with a small amount of concern. Elrond and Gandalf leaned toward one another and conversed near-silently while Glorfindel stayed rooted to the spot, staring absentmindedly at Viper.

A snap sounded, and they blinked as Viper grinned, his fingers poised. The occupants in the room stumbled backwards as a ripple of pure, unadulterated power rush outward, and Viper feel to his knees, clutching his head. But he was grinning.

The door banged open minutes later—which were spent with them staring open-mouthed at the cheerful Viper—and Thranduil ran into the room with Gloin and a few other more magic-sensitive elves. "What has happened?" The elven king demanded. "Mithrandir? Did you...?"

"'Twas not me," the old wizard replied, gesturing at Viper, who was being helped up by Aragorn and Boromir.

The hooded man ignored their stares and grinned right at Bilbo's face—the hobbit was gaping, eyes wide. It was comical, to him. "Your mind, Bilbo Baggins," he concluded with a cackle, "is a _very_ interesting place."

"Are you alright?" Aragorn fretted, examining Viper closely. "I mean—what was that?"

"Just a result," Viper dismissed it with a wave of his gloved fingers. "I daresay it was acceptable."

"I.. I can't." Bilbo gasped, then. Frodo rushed over tom him and grasped his arms worriedly. "Bilbo,. Are you alright?"

The old hobbit only grinned a gummy smile. "I can't _hear_ it anymore! The Ring," he swiped at the chain around Frodo's neck and stared at the sparkling accessory in fascination, "is silent to me!"

The rest of them stood there, bewildered and stunned as the two happy hobbits accosted Viper with thank-yous and grateful exclamations.

"That power..." Thranduil trailed off, before turning to Elrond, "it was _him_?"

The elf lord nodded mutely, not trusting his mouth.

"By the Valar," the ruler of Mirkwood breathes, eyes wide.

Just another thing to add to the mystery that was Viper, they presumed.

oOoOo

"What was that?"

"I thought I already explained it?"

"No, that that—I heard you, even if it didn't make any sense to me. But... Before. When you were telling of what you were about to do."

"Alright, I'll bite. What do you want to know?"

Glorfindel sat back with a sigh, hesitating. He and Viper were alone in one of the studies, which he had dragged the younger male to upon the end of their unscheduled and mind-boggling "meeting." He sat in the chair while the enigma he pondered perched up on the desk, hands supporting his chin. Viper tilted his head at him curiously.

"It was when you said you were going to 'do what the Ring did,' and Gimli exploded." He started, eventually. "He shouted at you..." He watched Viper tense. "When you next spoke, I heard... You sounded sad, _hurt_. Like you thought he and the rest of us actually _believed_ you were like the Ring just because you might have—and now we know that you actually _do_ have—the same abilities... or at least one, that the Ring has." Glorfindel took a deep breath, observing how Viper's grin was gone, his body stressed. He frowned. "Viper? Why?"

"What?" Viper breathed. "'Why' what?"

"You know what I'm asking, child."

"_Don't call me that_!" Viper hissed, suddenly angry. His voice was cold, icy, so frosty that Glorfindel stiffened. The elf actually caught the tone—it was hurt, pain, sadness; so _raw_... His bright eyes widened and he leaned forward, hand coming to rest on Viper's knee. "...Viper?" He kept his voice soft.

The hooded man took a shuddering breath, as if his next words caught in his throat. When he spoke, his voice was shaky. "I... Just, don't. Don't call me that." _I'm older than __**you**__, fool. __**You're**__ the child here. I'm so much older than you, so much older than you'll __**ever**__ know—so much older and you will __**never**__ know..._

The elf lord didn't move. "...Viper, please."

"No!" Viper braced his hands on the table, slipped his leg out from under Glorfindel's hand and flipped his feet into the air. He stood on the table, on his hands. He seemed to stare at Glorfindel for a moment, before lowering himself just slightly, and then flipping off of the desk. He landed solidly on his feet. Glorfindel tried to focus, tried not to pay the movements any mind, but he couldn't help but find himself mesmerized by Viper's skills. The were so smooth and graceful, flowing together seamlessly. "Don't. Don't talk, don't ask me, don't _speak_..." Viper breathed out, a soft, almost hysterical laugh escaping his mouth. Glorfindel's eyes were wide. "Leave it alone, leave me—alone! _Don't try_ to _solve_ me! I'm—I'm _not_ a puzzle! _Stop_ it! I want _all_ of you to _stop_!" He shouted. His paused, before slapping gloved hands over his mouth in shock. Glorfindel rocketed out of his chair but, before he could say anything, Viper dashed from the study, slipping through the window like a thief in the night.

The door slammed open. Aragorn ran into the room, his eyes wide. "Was that... Was that _Viper_ I heard, shouting...?" The Ranger gasped. "Please say no... What was spoken... It—"

"It is of no use," Glorfindel slumped back into his seat dejectedly. "He's escaped out the window."

Aragorn sat down with a thump as the elf confirmed that, _yes_, the person he'd heard shouting—his voice full of such _emotion_—had indeed been Viper. "Just like with the Hall of Healing incident, then," he mumbled aloud, staring at the desk absently, the situation still being processed in his mind, "when he disappeared with a fever. I heard Legolas and Gimli discussing he'd left through a window..." He paused, turning to the golden-haired elf with hard eyes. "What did you say to him? Those words..." Aragorn swallowed thickly. "I didn't know he felt that way..."

"Nor did I," the other sighed. "I wanted to speak with him, wondering how he could think we thought him evil—you did hear the note in his voice, when Gimli shouted at him, did you not?"

Aragorn nodded, "I was going to speak with him about it later, after supper."

"I think you won't see him for a few days..." Glorfindel pinched the bridge of his nose, guilt striking him in the gut. "That lad needs people to be there for him, I daresay. The hurt, pain, sadness... You should have seen him. He _ran away_, Estel! From me! I'd.. I would never hurt him. He is... too innocent."

Aragorn was silent for a while, pondering an answer. Soon, he only sighed and sunk into another chair. "He needs help," he said sadly. "Viper... he needs help."

oOoOo

_I shouldn't have said that. _

Panic attacks weren't uncommon for him. He'd had them plenty of times before, however few and far in between. He wasn't sure why one had come now, and how that talk with the blond elf had triggered it, but those thoughts were in the back of his mind as he tried to take in breathes, stumbling to his hands an knees.

_I just blew up, I can't believe—_

The gasps were ragged, painful. They tore through his throat, searing his chest on the inside. There was a pressure around his lungs, his mind was in disarray. He was frightened. Not much could scare him, but these people had managed to make him afraid in under the span of two months! He wanted to laugh at the irony—he was known to be a right cruel bastard in many words—apparently not this one.

_Oh gods, I shouldn't have said __**anything**__!_

He'd had thought they wouldn't trust him—it had only been such little time since they'd all met him. But no; they were concerned for him, worried for him, wanted to help him.

His grin was tense, hurting. Tears stung his eyes and paved salty trails down his face as small, pained noises erupt from his mouth.

_Why did he have t ask that, as if he cared? As if they all cared? Stop, I wish they'd stop, it hurts!_

It hurt, it really hurt. He struggled to breath, collapsed in one of the gardens—he wasn't sure which it was, he'd been in a hurry to get away—from them. Hopefully they wouldn't find him—but, oh god! It _hurt_!

A small voice in the back of his head—so quietly that in his panicking state he barely registered it—was saying that, maybe, he really _did_ want them to find him. He _wanted_ them to run around, searching for him. He _wanted_ them to help, offer aid, and he _wanted_ to accept it. He _wanted_ to be cared for, after so many, _many_ eons of only caring for himself. He wanted them, any of them, to rush to his side and look at him with those concerned faces—

He choked, tears spilling down. His lungs were on fire, trapped between two walls that were slowly closing in on each other, crushing, crushing him—

A hand thumped on his back—gently, but he still fell forward in his weakened state, but someone caught him and held him close, one hand on his back and the other carding through his hair under the hood. "Easy there, easy." Someone else—other than the one holding him—spoke gently from his left—or was it his right? He wasn't sure, right now. "Come, _breath_... There we go. It's alright. Look, you are doing great. Let us keep this up..."

He whimpered breathlessly, the noise but a whisper escaping his mouth, but the arms around him tightened, and the one who kept talking in that gently voice laid a hand on his lower back, and another hand rubbed up and down his arm. The voice kept speaking, soothingly, and Viper felt himself calm down. He leaned into the warmth, his body was so cold, and panted.

He remembered his first panic attack. It had been a bit shortly after he realized he truly couldn't die, a time after all his close ones had passed on. He was so alone, so lonely, so desperate, so missing them all... He'd collapsed. He couldn't breath at all. Everything was so tense, hurting.

He'd thought, maybe, this would kill him?

It hadn't worked either.

He'd been _disappointed_.

Then he'd been horrified.

He could suffer much, like this, or even worse, but he could never die.

He'd suffer, but no freedom through death like a lot of torture victims could and had chosen to relieve themselves of their pain. They kill themselves, unable to bear it any longer—but he didn't _have_ that option.

This was worse than death. Worse than even _hell_, he thought.

That realization had been a big one. He'd been so broken. So lonely, all alone, so sad, so tired.

A sob ripped from his throat. It burned, it was try from trying to breath too hard. He felt his muscles loosen up, and his body fell limp. The arms held him still. The voice, paused, before continuing again, soothing, gentle—but a hint of worry colored it, more than it had before.

"Shhh," the person hushed him. Who was it? It sounded like an elf, very familiar... "It's alright. You're okay. You're safe. Calm down, just breath in... out..."

His mind cleared slightly, and his tilted his head back, looking up. "... B-Boromir?" He choked, still breathless from his panic attack. The Son of Denethor only smiled softly down at him, his calloused hand running through his silky locks that hid under his hood. Concern glinted in his eyes. Viper twisted around until he faced the other person, trying to see through the tears that clouded his eyes, making his vision watery.

Legolas kept speaking, so softly, rubbing his shoulder, his arm, his back. He hushed him when he tried to speak, and smiled at him calmly. Viper felt his vision start to fade, his mind going blank. Sleep soon overtook him, and he was so very confused.

After all, it had been a long, very long time, since anyone had calmed him down from a panic attack.

oOoOo

No one spoke of what had happened—for all Viper knew, Legolas and Boromir hadn't told a soul. Somehow he doubted that, but it was nice to be ignorant sometimes, of such things.

The Fellowship left that day. The others gathered before Elrond who was giving a farewell speech, but Viper didn't feel like receiving it. He leaned against a pillar, some ways away, arms crossed. Boromir and Aragorn kept glancing at him with concern showing in his eyes, but Viper was grateful to notice that Legolas kept his eyes firmly set on the speaking elf lord, refusing to look at him until he'd determined Viper felt like talking. He tilted his head, bored, before focusing in on Elrond's speech.

"—setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On you who travel with him no oath nor bond is laid, to go further than you will." the lord of Rivendel spoke, pinning his intense stare on each of the company. Viper stayed in the shadows, and Elrond decided to skip him. Viper silently thanked the man.

"Farewell." He said instead, to all of them. "Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you."

Sam, Merry, Pippin and Frodo shared determined looks with one another, before starting out of the gates. Legolas and Gimli pressed their fists over their hearts and bowed to their families—Legolas to his father, and Gimli to his and his cousins. Then, they too followed after the hobbits and a retreating Gandalf.

Viper slipped from the shadows and stealthily made his way through the gates. No one saw him. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips, before glancing through the gates at the others. Boromir watched Elrond spread his arms in a gesture of farewell, before the man of Gondor spun on his heel and left the city of Rivendel, after the others and himself. Only Aragorn remained, hesitant to step to the other side of the gate. He glanced back, and caught the elven Arwen's eye. Viper watch them have some sort of silent conversation, before Aragorn gave a small smile and turned—and left the place of his childhood. Perhaps for the last time. None of them was sure they'd come back.

Except for him, Viper knew, as he raced after the group, then slowed to match pace with Tharbadir—who'd refused to let them leave without him, the stubborn stallion.

Maybe he wouldn't come back, perhaps... But he definitely wouldn't die. Not on this journey. Not ever, apparently.

Sometimes, he wished he'd never been born.

oOoOo

**_You know what? I just don't care anymore T-T I'm bored, there's nothing too do, and the amount of reviews I've gotten on this is altogether shocking. Therefore, since you have all been such dutiful and flat-out lovable readers, I present you all with this third chapter, about three-thirds of a month earlier than I promised. I hope you're happy ^-^  
_**

**_An another note, and I'll probably go into more detail on this next Author's Note, there are no slash, or otherwise, pairings in the story. No pairings at all. _**

**_I'll also ask you all to hop down to my profile and vote on a poll that is super important to this story and I kinda need to get all the votes in before the month is over, or I won't be able to very well continue this story yet._**

**_Thanks a bunch, love you all,_**

_**~Scylar X.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**And In The Darkness Bind Them**_

_**Arc One: Lord of the Rings**_

**Chapter Four:**

He watched the thin, smoky trails climb into the air and disappear once the reached the height that destroyed them visibly, the ashes caught in the fumes scattered among the wind. He followed the trails with his eyes until he caught himself staring into the flames. Viper didn't get why they needed a fire, the day was already hot enough, he was practically baking. It must have been because of his full-out black attire, however, so he never said anything once Aragorn pointed it out. Viper was used to eating fresh, or cool foods during the day and the hot meals in need of cooking over a fire during the cool nights. He was most comfortable that way. This fire in the middle of an outstretched arm of the mountains, during the day with the sun's rays glaring down on them, the very wind stiff with heat, and not a cloud in sight was making him uneasy. He didn't like breaking a routine.

Sam finished stirring the fire and tossed his stick to the side, climbing up the rocks to where Frodo sat, watching Boromir teach Merry and Pippin how to use the swords Aragorn had given them.

"Two," the man of Gondor called out, and Pippin raised his sword with shaky arms, the weight of the sword causing the trembles. "One, five. Good. Very good." Boromir swiftly moved his sword around, and gently taped it against on side of Pippin's smaller blade. The weapon wobbled.

Aragorn sat off to the side, on another set of rocks. He smoked a pipe and paused every now and then to call out encouragement. "Move your feet."

Pippin sucked in a breath, before stumbling to the side and swinging wildly. Boromir let out a cry and knocked the blade away from him. He smiled. "Almost."

"You look good, Pippin." Merry called from his spot on the sidelines. Pippin graced his best friend with a grin. "Thanks," he said, before turning back and lifting his sword again.

As the hobbits battled, Merry switching places with Pippin every so often, Viper stayed in the shadows of a large boulder near the encampment, watching curiously as Gimli approached Gandalf, who sat near the horses and Bill the pony, Sam's. The immortal's ears twitched, and he heard the low mumble of Gimli's voice despite the distance.

"If anyone were to ask for my opinion, which I note they've _not_, I'd say we were taking the long way 'round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria! My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome!" Viper tilted his head when he saw the hesitant look on Gandalf's face. "Hm..." he murmured under his breath.

Gandalf removed the pipe from his mouth, which he'd been smoking, blowing rings and impossible shapes in a variety of colors. He appeared faintly surprised, before pinning his eyes on the dwarf. "No, Gimli, I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice."

Viper found this interesting. _What does the " old man" know that I do not? That none of us do? _He twisted around silently to get a look at the company's elf, who stood perched on the higher rocks, gazing out into the distance, bow clutched firmly in his hands. Viper frowned. Legolas wasn't this jumpy. Gandalf missed the disgruntled look on Gimli's face as he turned to gaze in the same direction, to the South.

"Come," Boromir's voice caught his attention. Viper tilted his head towards the left this time, watching the son of Denethor's blade come quite too close to Pippin, and even closer, as they spared. "Good, good."

The man's blade nicked Pippin's hand as the hobbit pulled back from another swing. The hobbit yelped. Viper grinned, even if it was subdued. He didn't notice Aragorn, who'd been watching him ever since he'd looked away from the Ranger, and he didn't see the man smile when he noticed Viper's small grin.

"Sorry!" Boromir winced, yanking his sword away and letting it clatter onto the rocks. Pippin kicked Boromir in the shin, and a laugh bubbled out of Viper's throat. Aragorn turned to look at the scene.

"Get him!" Merry shouted, and the two hobbits joined forced to bring Boromir to the ground in a mock fight. The three start laughing and Aragorn soon joins in, as Pippin let out a war cry. "For the Shire! Hold him! Hold him down, Merry!" The two hobbits giggled.

Boromir tussled their hair, and Viper eventually got comfortable in the shade of the boulder, laying on his stomach with his hand and elbows supporting his chin as he watched, highly amused. The hobbit's let out indignant shouts and pinned down the man's arms for dare touching their hair. Aragorn leaned forward, observing the interested look on Viper's face—or, what he could see of it—and took in the fact that the younger man had appeared to finally relax since they'd left Rivendel; since that talk with Glorfindel. He let out a small sigh after a moment, and stood, making his way to the wrestling trio. He placed a hand on either hobbit's shoulder. "Gentlemen," he called in a voice that said he was only half-jesting. "That's enough."

Merry and Pippin exchanged looks, before each grabbing a hold on either of the Ranger's legs, pulling him down to the ground. Aragorn let out a yelp, sprawling out on his back. He heard the familiar, and slightly missed, sound of Viper's laughter. The four wrestling males—Aragorn had joined in quickly—paused ever-so-slightly at the noise, before continuing with grins. They'd gotten Viper to laugh again.

"My arm!" Pippin called out, woefully, "You've got my arm... You've got my arm!" He pulled himself onto Boromir's back and wrapped his arms around the man's neck in a choke-hold as Merry took on the group's Ranger.

"Your honor to be restored, Pippin!" Viper called out, "Get him, Merry!"

Boromir and Aragorn turned to him with mock glared. "Traitor!" They cried in unison. Viper cackled.

"What is that?" The hooded man heard Sam ask. He turned to see the gardener standing next to Legolas, who was watching intently as a strange cloud had appeared.

"Nothing," Gimli answered in the elf's stead, hearing the question as well. The wrestling behind them dwindled down as the others looked up to stare as well. "It is only a whiff of a cloud."

"It is moving awfully fast." Boromir called out warily, getting up from the ground with a hand on Merry and Pippin's shoulders.

Viper scaled the boulder he sat in the shade of, wincing minutely as the full heat blasted against his skin. He squinted, before slowly back up again. "_Against_ the wind. It is moving _against the wind_!"

"That is no cloud," Frodo frowned, eyes big.

Legolas stared for a moment, before quickly retreating from his place in the rocks. His eyes were wide and his movement fast. "Crebain!" he cried. "From Dunland!"

Aragorn jerked back. "Hide!" he hissed, shepherding the hobbits into some nearby bushes. Boromir climbed into the thicket after them. "Hurry!" He called.

The Fellowship rushed around, looking for places to camouflage themselves from the approaching enemy. "Frodo!" Viper called. "Go faster!" He gestured to a outcropping near the young hobbit, and Frodo cast him a thankful look before scurrying underneath it. Viper pressed himself against the boulder, in the shadows. He blended in surprisingly well.

They waited in silence, gazing up at the sky, waves of heat making their vision waver. A flash of darkness against the light of the bright blue of daytime overhead, and they quieted as a flock of black birds flew, cawing loudly.

They watch as the birds circle the hill, twice, three times, before turning back and disappearing in the South once more. The group slowly made their way out into the open again. Viper stood up stretched, then cast a glare at the sun. "I will end you, one day," he swore. "You will _die_." His voice was dead serious, as if he truly believed his words held truth. The group assumed his words to be in jest, an attempt to loosen the tension, and they laughed, considering the attempt successful; as were all Viper's plans, it seemed.

Of course, Viper did believe his words to be true, and he knew it would happen one day. Perhaps not by him, but it would happens.

But they didn't need to know that.

He plopped down into the shade of the boulder once again and curled up. "I'm sleeping." He huffed, addressing them. "Wake me up if someone dies." And with that, and buried his face into his arms and ignored their presence.

Aragorn and Boromir exchanged exasperated looks, as Pippin and Merry gave one another grins. They wandered over into the shade of the boulder and sat down near the now-apparently sleeping enigma, only to get kicked in the backs. They yelped, stumbling out into the sun once again. "My rock," everyone heard Viper growl irritatedly "Go find your own, Halflings."

"_They're_ like children?" Aragorn murmured once he was certain Viper had finally dozed of. He remembered the hooded man's words from when their small group had entered Rivendel months before, and shook his head. "Nay. _He_ is the child, here."

"What are you saying?" Boromir asked, and Aragorn cast him a look, before making himself comfortable on a smaller boulder. "Viper is a child in the body of a young man," he responded. "I see it now."

"Ah," Boromir breathed, sheathing his sword. "He is, isn't he? I daresay he's the youngest here. In mind, in the least."

"In body as well, possibly." Aragorn leaned back. "I actually do not know his age. He hasn't told me. I don't think he would, in fact. If I were to ask him, I swear he'd make some joke about it being rude to ask a person their age."

"Isn't that only with women, though?"

"Aye," the Ranger smirked, taking a puff on his pipe. Boromir stared at him for a moment, before slapping a hand over his mouth to hide a snicker.

"Oi, Strider. You're teasing me, that's not very nice." Viper pouted. "And behind my back too!"

The two men jumped up, Aragorn fumbling with his pipe and spilling soot down the front of his shirt. He let out a yelp. "Viper!"

The younger man ignored his dilemma, instead placing the back of his hand to his forehead. "What kind of friend are you?" He wailed. Boromir leaned forward, letting out a few guffaws.

"Spies of Saruman," Gimli shouted at them, and the three turned with wide eyes. Viper tilted his head. "I was _sleeping_. Well, not just now, but I _was_ getting back to it. We can travel again in the morning, can't we? Or, better yet, at _night_." He gave them a ll a pointed look. "When it's _cooler_."

The dwarf shook his head. "But do you know what this means?" He asked insistently. Viper rolled his eyes. "Well, of course. The passage South is being watched. Which mean that—"

"We must take the Pass of Caradhras." Gandalf state gravely, agreeing. The others sucked in breaths at his tone, looking back into the south to where the Crebain had disappeared to.

Viper glared at the wizard. "Do not interrupt me, old man! I was going to say that!" But the wizard barely cast him a glance, promptly ignoring the complaining mystery as he turned on his heel, walking over to his bags. Viper cried in dismay. The rest of the group smiled. "Oi! Old man! Oyaji! _Look at me when I'm speaking to you_! Gramps!"

Sam tugged on the hem of Viper's shirt. "What does "oh-yea-gee" mean, Viper?" He asked curiously. Viper froze. The rest of the group stared at when he failed to answer. Aragorn frowned. "Viper?"

"It is a word, in an ancient language called _Japanese_." Viper answered stiffly. He waited a moment, before shaking himself from the sudden mood and grinning mischievously. "It is actually a _very_ disrespectful title to address an _elder_ with, but..." He cackled, so that they missed the slight hesitation when he emphasized the word "elder."

"Viper!" Aragorn admonished, before shaking his head with a exasperated smile. "You're very ill-mannered!"

The hooded man shrugged, before lifting his head up, startled. He looked at them, before dashing back into the shade of the largest boulder. He curled up once more. "I'm _sleeping_, now. Aragorn, no speaking of me behind my back." The hooded man warned. "I _will_ find out."

The Ranger only grinned, lifting his hands up in mock surrender. Viper huffed at him, before he once again buried his face in his arms and dozed off.

oOoOo

"Cold, cold, cold, cold," Viper whined softly, his breath fogging before his mouth. He wrapped his arms around himself tighter, and trembled. "I'm so very _cold_."

Aragorn and Boromir both watched him, from their places on either side of the younger man. They appeared amused, but no less agreed with his observation. The snow was soaking through the soles of their boots.

"Remember when he was too warm?" Aragorn reminisced thoughtfully, looking up at the gray, cloud-filled sky.

"Back before the Crebain?" Boromir clarified, before nodding. "Aye. 'I'm too hot,' he says. Now he is too cold_._"

Viper threw his head back and shot an unseen but still felt glare at them, and they chuckled. "I'd _gladly_ call that blistering heat back now," the hooded enigma snapped mournfully. He shook his head, before casting a scowl at the icy fluff beneath and around them. "I _hate_ cold—_hate_ it."

Legolas looked down from his place high above them, his feet feathering right over the snow mounds, barely a footprint in his path. Viper made a small, affronted noise and shot the nimble elf a heated look of jealousy, before his eyes widened, and he slipped on a tile of ice. The hands of Aragorn and Boromir instantly shot out to steady him before he could tumble off of the cliff face the group was scaling, and Viper clutched their forearms as he sucked in short breaths. He glowered down at the sheet of ice that lay hazardously beneath them. "And ice," he added. "Hate that too, yeah."

"Where has your spryness gone now?" Gandalf questioned from ahead of them. The men looked forward and saw that he and the hobbits—as well as Gimli—had paused to look back at them. Viper let out a dry chuckle. "It's the chill. I don't like—I _hate_ them, old man." He shook his head, paused, and was suddenly all fancy flips again, easily scaling the snow banks before he could slip on the ice again—getting as far away from the frozen water as possible—which was quite _im_possible. He ended up clinging to Legolas' shoulders with his legs wrapped around the elf prince's torso. The other's gazed up at the two with grand amusement as Legolas shot the black-clad young man an incredulous look while he attempted to catch his balance. Viper only wrapped his arms around the blond's shoulders and buried his face into the other's pale hair. "I'm staying _here_," he declared stubbornly, and Legolas had to let out a short breath of frustration. Boromir, Aragorn and the hobbits were too busy laughing at him, along with Gimli who was apparently attempting to commit the very moment to permanent memory. Gandalf leaned forward on his staff, eyes twinkling.

"Viper—" Legolas found a gloved hand gently clap over his mouth to muffle any protests.

"_Please_, Legolas?" Viper exclaimed in a childish voice. "The ice is so cold and _scary_, you have to be the brave elf and protect me from it!"

Legolas grumbled minutely while Gimli howled with laughter. Aragorn and Boromir were amused to no end, though they did exchange a look—they'd both noticed how Viper's apparently teasing words were not all only in jest.

What was it about the ice and the feeling of cold that Viper was so frightened of—though such fear was not shown openly? Given, no one liked being cold, it was a common sentiment, but Viper seemed to absolutely despise it.

"Come!" Viper buried his concealed face deeper into Legolas' hair, perhaps in an attempt to get warm. "L's g'h."

"Was that suppose to be a sentence?" Pippin questioned curiously, examining the shadowy enigma.

"Not sure, Pip," Merry replied, squinting at the scene of Viper clutching onto the blond elf. "But I think we should get out of this here terrain, before Mister Viper chooses someone else as a heat source."

Their journey progressed slightly quicker than before. No one wanted Viper clinging to their backs, the traveling was difficult enough.

oOoOo

Later on, as they trudged through the glistening snow, under the bright blue sky, Frodo met the same obstacle Viper had before, and slipped on his way over to hold a conversation with Gimli out of the hobbit's own boredom. He let out a surprised cry that woke up a slumbering Viper—who, if you wish to know, was still attached to the back of Legolas, who was quickly becoming used to the extra weight—as he near tumbled down the steep wall and into the valley below—if it had not been for a quick Aragorn, who snatched the young Halfling's forearm just in time.

Instantly, even before giving a thank-you, Frodo's mind went to the Ring that was suppose to hand 'round his neck. He grasped at the chain that he'd grown accustomed to in the past journey, only to find it missing. He shot a panicked glance up at the suddenly stiff Ranger, before looking around wildly, hoping to spot some glint of metal in the snow. Viper watched them in silence, his arms securely wrapped around the shoulders of a wary Legolas.

The company turned to look back up the slope, then let out short breaths of relief as they noticed the Ring, shining in the rays of the light above, nestled neatly in the snow.

"Well, that's good," Viper mused thoughtfully, a touch of exhaustion to his voice. They'd quickly learned that the icy and cold terrain, coupled with the blistering heat from the sun above them did not make for a happy, or even a fully conscious Viper. If Aragorn hadn't already checked for a fever, they'd have thought the youth was ill again. "It just wouldn't do to loose the main object of this entire war halfway through our journey to end it, now would it?" He didn't wait for a reply, letting his head fall forward again. Legolas didn't even flinch this time as the smaller man on his back buried his never-seen face into his hair once again. Boromir scaled up the steep slop, reaching out to retrieve the Ring before Frodo could think to move.

"Boromir, bad idea—" Viper's called as his head snapped up again, only for the young man to let out a defeated sigh as he saw the man of Gondor staring at the Ring in hi hand, fascination crossing his features. He allowed his head to fall back down again. "Mmf."

"Boromir," Frodo called out softly, not at all liking the look on the taller male's face.

But Boromir wasn't listening. He gazed at the Ring, face somewhat sad. His voice was quiet as he spoke up. "It is a strange fate we should suffer so much fear and doubt… over so small a thing. Such a little thing."

They all stood frozen, watching the Ring swing from left to right on it's chain, until Boromir slowly reached out a gloved hand to touch it. Aragorn leaped forward, a hand on his sword. "Boromir!" He snapped warningly. The journey now may have made the two men consider themselves acquaintances instead of minute enemies, but he had yet to hold the Son of Denethor in high regards. This wasn't helping that, either.

Boromir's head shot up at his words, as if he'd been woken from a trance. Aragorn leaned forward, exposing the hand that he kept on the hilt of his weapon. "Give Frodo the Ring."

After a long pause, none of the company moving an inch—except for Viper, who shifted slightly on Legolas' back(the elf could tell he was listening intently, despite his sleepy appearance) at times—Boromir began to slowly make his way back down the slop, coming to stand in front of Frodo and the heir of Isildur. Aragorn kept a hand on his weapon. The sandy-haired man's words sounded almost wistful as he held out the chain, Ring dangling, out to the Hobbit. "As you wish..." his voice was light, as if nothing had happened—and perhaps, to him, nothing _had_.

Frodo did not waste any time, his hand shot out quickly to snatch the Ring from Boromir's grasp. He slipped the chain around his neck and stuffed the glinting metal under his collar once more. He didn't turn as Boromir jokingly tousled his light brown locks, moving on ahead of them and toward the rest of the company, who could see the slightly nervous look on the man's face. Aragorn released his hold on his sword as Frodo looked on suspiciously after.

Soon, the group was walking again, continuing their travels. The air around them was heavy and not a member dared to speak to break the silence that nearly suffocated. They had no doubts that, if Viper had been conscious, he'd have been babbling away and ignoring the tense atmosphere, but whenever they glanced at the black-clad youth who clung to Legolas' back, he was sleeping as if unconscious from a heavy blow. There was no one awake to lighten the mood this time.

After a few days—most of which Viper spent sleeping on one of the men's backs(he sometimes switched between Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas), as he'd told them that the much hated cold made him drowsy—and they'd successfully made it out of the most deep of the snowy mountainside. They were setting up camp, with Merry and Pippin taking turns in stirring the now growing fire with long, thin sticks. Sam stood over them as he paused in unpacking the bag that contained the company's food, and dried meat ready to be cooked. Frodo was settling down on a log that Gandalf had claimed as a seat, and Legolas scaled the nearest winter tree to get a view of their surroundings. Boromir lifted a sleeping Viper off of Aragorn's back and gently laid the younger man down on a blanket that he'd spread out near the fire after scraping away as much ice and snow as he could manage—confident that the mysterious youth would appreciate the warmth the hot flames would present them all. Aragorn slowly straighted and popped the joined of his spine, before turning around and glancing down at the black-clad, lithe figure. Viper had immediately latched onto the blanket and was now curled in on himself, hands fisted in the material. "He really is like a child."

"We've been over this before, have we not?" Boromir raised a brow.

"We have," Sam chimed in from the man's side, and they looked down at the Halfling. "You two spoke of it back in that desert-like place, didn't you?"

"So we did," Aragorn nodded, wandering over to collapse by Gimli, the dwarf slumbering lightly while propped up against a fallen tree. "So we did."

Not much else was spoken that night, as Boromir was set for the first watch. Aragorn made his place of rest near the fire, so he could keep an eye at the still near-comatose Viper. It would be just the company's luck to wake up and find the younger man missing. Who knew what trouble Viper would come up with in the night?

Perhaps that was a question best left unanswered.

oOoOo

As the Fellowship labored onward through the high snow banks, Legolas took his own time, and decided to run out ahead of them. Viper was found limply hanging from the stiff back of Boromir this hour—the elf swore this was better training that even lifting weights back in Mirkwood—when he glanced back. He twisted around against and surged froward, keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of dangers, or enemy forces—namely, orcs. His steps are light and he glided easily across the surface of the deep snow, blue eyes staring into the blizzards.

His ears twitched slightly, and Legolas almost felt his heart freeze in the cold winds as he caught the sound of someone speaking.

"—_**irasse; nai yarvaxea ra**_—"

He spun around and shouted out to Gandalf, who was in the lead of the progression. "There is a fell voice in the air!" He called in a panic. Gandalf's head shot up, pointed hat falling to the side a bit. His words confirmed Legolas' suspicions. "It is Saruman!"

With a rending echo, a horde of rock slabs and boulders falls from the mountain's arms. The Fellowship threw themselves flat against the sheer cliff wall in an attempt to avoid the onslaught of stone, Boromir had Viper in his arms, his shoulder crushed against the wall of the mountain. Viper was curled up into a ball with his forearms brought up to shield his head.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn shouted during a slight paused in the rumbling, until it started again just as suddenly. "Gandalf," the Ranger's voice held panic. "We must turn back!"

Gandalf's face took on an appearance of determination at those words. "No!" The wizard shouted, before stepping out from the cliff side and raising his hands, eyes bright. Ignoring the protesting calls of the group for him to come back to safety, he shouted out, "_**Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i 'ruith**_!"

But the wizards voice was drowned out by another cry. Lightning struck the tip of Caradhras, sending a second avalanche of white ice onto the Fellowship. Legolas managed to snatch Gandalf from the edge in time, pulling him against the cliff just before the ice-fall hits. The avalanche cascaded over the group, and snow buried them completely.

A few long moments of silence and motionless snow passed, before Viper forced his way out, spluttering. "What a way to wake up." He spat, distastefully. "Cold, cold, _cold_—"

"Mmfrm!" Another voice called, before the snow began to tremble, before exploding outwards as the rest of the company emerged from the bank. Aragorn shot the shivering Viper a look. "Perhaps if you hadn't been asleep in the first place—"

"It's the damn _cold_," Viper told him flippantly. "It's out to get me, I _swear_. It seeps into my flesh and knocks me from consciousness." The younger man shrugged. "'Tis not my fault."

"Not this, now," Boromir called. "We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!"

Aragorn instantly spun around to rebuke the man. "The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" he shouted.

"_We're taking the hobbits to Isengard~_" Viper mumbled under his breath in a sing-song, but only Pippin managed to hear him, and the Halfling shot the enigma a puzzled frown.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain," Gimli spoke up, digging his way out of the dazzling snow like a badger, "let us go under it. Let us go through the mines of Moria!"

In Gandalf's eyes there is a shadow of doubt, Viper noticed. His green eyes narrowed while he turned to subtly study the ancient—not as ancient as _he_, however—wizard. A spark of fear that lied unsaid. _He is conflicted._ The immortal thought to himself. "Moria…" Viper's voice was soft, and the others quieted down to hear his words, Gandalf's stare was piercing, but Viper barely noticed it. "You fear to go into those mines." He mused thoughtfully.

Gimli shot the bearded wizard a sharp look of incredulity, while the hobbits exchanged surprised glances. Boromir blinked at Aragorn, who was studying the silent Gandalf with narrowed eyes.

A glint of fear shone in those misty, yet twinkling, blue eyes, and Gandalf let out a sigh. "The dwarves delved too greedily and too deep."

"Nonsense!" Gimli boomed. "My cousins are—"

"You do not know what they awoke in the darkness of Khazad-dûm." Gandalf told the red-haired male sharply, and Gimli sucked in a breath. The others remained quiet, until Viper hopped onto Boromir's back once more—the Son of Denethor let out a groan. "You have ridden me like a pack-mule these last few leagues!" He protested. "Go break someone else's spine!"

"I am _not _heavy!" Viper rebutted, indignant. Boromir tilted his head, suddenly thoughtful. "True," the sandy haired man conceded, but he still struggled. "Though, it is notwithstanding. My back aches, Viper. Go bother another."

Viper harrumphed, slipping off of his perch. His feet barely even met the ground until he was clambering onto Aragorn's shoulders. The Ranger's eyes twitched. "You," he told the hooded youth, who was settling into a comfortable position, "are more trouble than you're worth."

"_I_," Viper replied, back straightening in offense, "am worth _so much more_ than you could ever afford, Strider, even _after_ inheriting Isildur's throne." Boromir looked away, a sour looked on his face, and Aragorn stiffened. Viper gave the impression of rolling his eyes under his hood, before slinging his arms around Aragorn's neck and burying his face into the Ranger's hair. Aragorn let out a huff, tension rapidly disappearing.

"Let the Ring bearer decide," Gandalf announced, bringing their attention back to the matter at hand. Frodo stood up straight, suddenly nervous.

Boromir's voice called through the snowstorm. "We cannot stay here!" Viper turned his head slightly, keeping it shielded from the onslaught of soft yet frozen droplets of water, to look. The man of Gondor held Merry and Pippin to his chest, both hobbits were pale and shivering. "This will be the death of the hobbits!"

Sam reached out to cling to Frodo's sleeve. The curly haired Baggins stared at his two friends in Boromir's arms. The close companions, the two hobbits joined at the hip throughout everything. They were loosing color fast. This wasn't right, he thought quickly. Merry and Pippin were _full_ of color, almost bursting with it. Cheery hued cheeks and bright red noses when chilled. Their eyes were always bright and their voices always playful. He still remembered the winter a few years before, when Pippin was always going on about how they should be called as "Pippin and Merry," instead of "Merry and Pippin." Even so, the younger eventually gave in and—that was probably the only fight he'd ever seen the two argue about.

"Frodo?" Gandalf questioned, voice ringing out over the mountain despite the sheer noise of the pounding snow.-almost hail. Frodo's head shot up to the wizard, before he cast one more look at his shivering friends. Sam's hand clenched his sleeve, the fist almost turning white from both the force of the hold and the cold. His eyes wandered to Viper, who was practically melding into Aragorn's back, as if attempting to steal all of the Rangers heat, and the black-clad youth was still shivering. He decided. Moria wouldn't snow, would it? Viper and Merry and Pippin—no, _Pippin and Merry_, right now(it was good to have some variety sometimes)—would appreciate some warmth, wouldn't they?

So, the hobbit ignored the look of apprehension that Gandalf was giving him while in wait for his reply, no matter how much it may have pained him, and—"We will go through the mines."

Gandalf's shoulder fell only slightly, and he let out a long breath. His answer took some time, but eventually, he gave Frodo a short nod. "So be it." He responded, voice resigned.

But Frodo caught the tiny grin that Viper was shooting at him, and the doubt somewhat washed away—and he forgot about Gandalf's unease, for the moment.

oOoOo

Viper wasn't clinging to their backs anymore, to the three men's relief, but that didn't stop the youth from complaining minutely about the chill. They'd cleared the snowy scape of the Caradhras, and now slunk under the shadows of an aqueduct's ruins. Viper soon lapsed into a short silence, bored out of his mind an unable to think of something to speak about, and the group broke for camp. Gandalf could now be found sitting back on a stone slab that may have once been up higher as a support. "Frodo," he called. "Come and help an old man."

Frodo wandered over and assisted the old wizard in opening the ties of his pack, both of their fingers trembling and missing aims due to the cold. "How is your shoulder?" Gandalf asked, after they'd managed to split open the bag.

The hobbit brought up a hand to rub the joint. It had healed somewhat nicely over their stay in Rivendel, no doubt thanks to the master-healers the elf establishment was occupied with. However, it still became sore—and this frosty weather was not helping that at all. "Better than it was," he admitted, eventually.

"And the Ring?" Gandalf inquired.

Frodo was silent. He was becoming to really dislike the Ring that was strung around his neck. It was always freezing cold—except for those short moments when it would almost burn through his shirt and flesh with it's brazen heat. It was the Ring's fault, he'd come to know. The Ring's fault Viper was always complaining—quiet pathetically, which did not suit the youth's image at all—about the cold, and his utter dislike for ice. And it was the Ring's fault that merry and Pippin—or, Pippin and Merry—almost froze to deaths. And it was the Ring's fault that Bilbo had frightened him, truly frightened him, for the very first time in, well, ever. It was the Ring's fault that they were on this wretched journey in the first place.

"You feel its power growing, don't you?" Gandalf spoke up, and Frodo turned to listen. "I've felt it too. You must be careful now. Evil will be drawn to you from outside the Fellowship. And, I fear, from within."

"Who then do I trust?" Frodo mumbled miserably, once he'd figured the meaning of his older companion's words. He didn't think he'd be able to take it if one of his new friends—or his old ones(Sam and Merry and Pippin would _never_ betray him, he _knew_ this)—turned on him just for the ring's whispered false promises. For some reason, he didn't believe that Viper would hear them at all, however. That was a strange thought, also. Frodo'd thought the Ring could be heard by everyone—but Viper's mental shields(he still was in awe of those) seemed to protect him from many a evil.

Gandalf turned to gaze down at him. Frodo wrapped his short arms around his torso and hugged himself. "You must trust yourself. Trust your own strengths."

"What do you mean?"

"There are many powers in this world, for Good or for Evil." Gandalf replied. "Some are greater than I am. And against some I have not yet been tested."

"You've an awfully large ego, old man," a light voice called from behind them, and both turned sharply to see Viper leaning against one of the aqueduct's only remaining supports, arm's crossed. "'Some are greater than I am,' you say? How great do you think you are?" He tilted his head curiously, but they could all hear the slight sting in his words if they listened closely.

"Viper!" Sam cried. "What is with you now?"

"That wasn't very nice," Pippin reluctantly added.

"I don't think you're very great," Viper continued, and some of the others winced shortly at the blunt words. "And then I see all these people treat you like you are a legend to behold, but—" The youth leaned forward, with unseen narrowed eyes, but you could just tell they were narrowed when you could feel the air that surrounded Viper. It was like how you'd just _know_ he was rolling his eyes, or glaring, or sleeping. "I can't see anything. Nothing but an old man. With strange, _abnormal_ powers. A _frea_—"

"Viper!"Aragorn snapped, cutting of the younger man's words. The others were looking at the hooded enigma with wide eyes. "Stop this, now!" He let out a short growl, taking a few steps forward and motioning to the rest of the group with a sweeping hand. "I understand you are tired and cold, but as are the rest of us! Those words you spoke were uncalled for—what has gotten into you?" He cried, confusion in his eyes.

Viper only huffed, arms tightening until he was hugging himself. He spun around on one heel and disappeared into the shadows. Aragorn let out a incredulous sigh, before turning to look helplessly at a silent wizard. "Gandalf, I am so sorry—"

"You need not be," the wizard held up a withered hand, his gaze set onto the spot Viper had stood only moments before. "I understand that Viper has some internal conflict that I am sure not many of you have noticed or even know of. Not that his words are acceptable, but I do not think that Viper understands why he should not say them, or think them."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked quietly, sinking down onto the slab of stone Frodo and the wizard sat on. The others—Legolas, Gimli, Boromir and Aragorn—wandered closer to listen.

Gandalf tilted his head a few times, as if pondering what to say. "Well—I do not believe Viper would appreciate that we pick him and his actions apart, but—" the wizard held a breath, before letting it out. "Alright. Let's see..."

He sat back, and Boromir scooted forward to tend to the dwindling fire. As he spoke, Aragorn aided Legolas in spreading out the bedrolls and Sam wandered to a short stream nearby to fill a pot with water for the group's supper. All of them kept their ears trained on the old wizard's words. "Viper is young, and inexperienced, I expect—however, sometimes, he acts, or speaks as if that entire philosophy I have of him is incorrect, drastically so."

"What do you mean?" Pippin inquired, leaning forward.

"It is—Viper is like a child," Aragorn explained as he spread out Merry's bedroll before moving onto Sam's. "But there are moments when he acts, or talk as if he's older than any of us. He may have seen things none of us have seen—but he won't speak of them, I know."

Gandalf nodded his agreement. "Indeed. Viper is a very private young man, he likes his secrets, I've noticed, and he likes the fact that they are secrets he alone knows. Though," here, the wizard leaned forward onto his staff in a pose they all recognized very well. "I sometimes wonder if that makes Viper lonely. It would be a _very_ lonely existence, I'd wager."

"Viper is frightened of making connections," Boromir spoke up quietly, almost reluctantly, from his spot near the fire. He'd stopped moving a few minutes before. "He's had close friends before, but he's told me they are all gone now—killed, I think. Dead, in the least. He fears making friends because he thinks he _knows_ that they will die, perhaps _because_ of him, and leave him all alone again." He took in a sharp breath, his eyes wide. He couldn't believe he'd just told them all that. Viper might hate him, now. He hung his head, noticing that everyone else was silent.

"That is..." Legolas bit his lip, looking away. Aragorn sucked in a breath before letting it out slowly, slumping to the ground, pulling a bedroll under himself before he landed. "I'm not going to say I understand—that, because I do not," the man of Gondor began. "But I've already told Viper that I will be here if he needs someone to talk to." He shrugged. "And, right now, he looks like he needs someone to talk to."

Aragorn rubbed his upper arms to get some warmth, before letting out a sigh. Everyone else was silent, staring at the fire or frowning. He stood up and walked out of the camp without a word.

oOoOo

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed, lad," Gimli explained to a confused Frodo. It was a little under a week after Viper's sudden change in mood that the group finally made it to the entrance valley of Moria. The hooded youth tended to be more quite now, but he still managed to lighten the mood with his presence. The talk that Aragorn had had with him in the darkness, away from the rest of the company, might have put the enigma more at ease.

"Yes, Gimli," Gandalf agreed, looking slightly amused. "Their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten."

Legolas paused, an eyebrow raised as he pondered this inconvenience. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" He murmured, non too quietly. Gimli only grumbled at his ploy and looked away.

Viper was a few meters away, lightly running his gloved fingers through Tharbadir's silky black mane. "Now be a good boy," the immortal cooed, "and I'll see you on the other side of this pit, won't I?" He asked. Tharbadir tossed his head with a soft neigh—as if to say, 'who do you take me for?'

Viper chuckled. "But of course."

They heard a loud splash, and Viper spun around, head tilted at a slight angle as if to improve his already phenomenal hearing. He cast Frodo a look, and the hobbit pulled back his foot with a gasp—the cold water had startled him. The group turned to look, and saw that a great pool sat beside the rock face, glinting in the moonlight. Small ripples weaved away from where Frodo had slipped, but the rest of the water remained like glass.

Gandalf swiveled his head around, before moving to approached the great stone wall between two trees, he ran his fingers over the cliff face. "Now… let's see. _Ithildin_—"

The hobbits let out breaths of wonderment. Beneath the wizards hand ran silvery lines, faint beneath the dirt. "It mirrors only starlight…" The old man confirmed, then added, "and moonlight."

Legolas glanced behind them and up at the darkened night sky. Slowly, the great face of the moon appeared from behind the dense trees, and, as he looked back, the silver lines strengthened until they were able to make out the outlining of a door, formed of two columns beneath an arch, with a star in the center.

Gandalf peered at the runes that appeared, barely there. "It says—'The Doors of Durin: Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'"

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked him, as Viper turned back toward Tharbadir a sent the stallion off. The horse wasn't to pleased, but the group watched silently as his glimmering black coat finally disappeared off into the distance. Gandalf spoke again. "Oh, it's quite simple." Said the cheerful wizard. "If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open."

Viper snorted. They turned to him, questioning looks on their faces. He shook his head. "Somehow," he explained, "I just don't believe it will be that easy."

"_Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen_!" Gandalf commanded the stone. The gate didn't budge.

"Really?" Viper drawled. "'Gate of the Elves, open now for me?' It's a dwarf mine, oyaji."

They'd fast gotten used to Viper's strange languages that the mysterious youth sometimes slipped into when talking. However—Aragorn cast the black-clad man a pointed look. He knew 'oyaji' was somewhat disrespectful, wherever Viper came from, now.

Gandalf tried again. "_Fennas Nogothrim, lasto beth lammen_!"

Viper made a noncommittal sound. "'Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to the word of my tongue.'" He translated, for the hobbits' confused faces at the words. Aragorn sat near him as Gandalf tried tapped at the doorway's base with his staff, shouting out another combination of elvish. "'Archway of my Allies, allow me entrance." Viper hummed, for the curious Halflings.

"How is it you know elvish?" Aragorn spoke up, as Gandalf went on. Viper turned toward him slightly, and the hobbits glanced, interested.

"Elvish?" Viper asked. "How is it I know Common? Or even Dwarf?" he shrugged at their looks of surprise. "I like learning languages..."

"You know dwarf?" Gimli stomped over and plopped down on the rocky shore of the pool with them. Legolas stood near Gandalf, sometimes offering suggestions for the password, but listening in on the conversation.

"And Mannish," Viper leaned back a little, squirming in place until he was comfortable. The rest followed suit. "Languages interest me, which is why I know so many of them, aside from my own—and many dead languages, to boot."

"What dead languages?" Frodo questioned, turning away from where Gandalf had taken to whacking the archway with his staff, now. "I do not know of any I can name."

"English," Viper said, after a moments consideration, "then there is Japanese, Latin, Greek, Spanish, German... Those ones are a few of my favorites, aside from Alagaësian. Spanish, and Japanese, are a few of my favorites, I guess. Then Ancient Alagaësian, that's a pretty one. _Really_ old, too."

"How come I've never heard of any of these?" Boromir asked, leaning forward. The other nodded. They'd never come across such words before.

"Most of them, I guess..." Viper placed a hand on the top of his head, as if sheepish. "Aha... Well, they're not exactly from Middle Earth—at least, not this Middle Earth, now."

Not from Middle Earth?" Legolas exclaimed, kneeling next to Gimli. The two exchanged less-than-pleasant glances, before the light-haired elf continued. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Viper admonished. "You're an elf, you should know there's something over there, across the sea." Legolas stiffened, regarding the youth with sudden wariness, but Viper laughed at him. "Not the sea your thinking of, though. We're on a planet. This middle Earth, it's really only one continent. The others aren't very well inhabited, though. I can tell you, though, Alagaësia is a far journey across the sea from here. Going of the eastern coastline, I should think."

"There are... other lands?" Aragorn spluttered, Legolas seemed intensely interested, as did Gimli and the hobbits. Boromir, though, appeared slightly skeptical, but curious nonetheless. Gandalf turned toward their discussion, a glimmer of _something_ in his twinkling eyes, but he only huffed and went back at the rock face.

"Well, yes," Viper told them, simply. "What? Did you think you were the only ones? Middle Earth isn't _that_ special, you should know."

The others appeared slightly offended at his words, then calmed as they though—was Viper from one of these other lands?

"I've never heard of such places," Legolas muttered, puzzled.

"You're not the only one, elf." Gimli shot back.

They sat there, questioning Viper further on these unknown lands, almost sure he was only joking them at some points—honestly, if there were other such lands, wouldn't they have at least heard of them, or even gotten visitors?

But eventually Viper had had enough, and they went back to silently watching Gandalf guess the password, with Viper and sometimes Aragorn or Legolas translating his words for Gimli and the hobbits, and only minimal conversation in between.

"Nothings happening." Pippin complained after a lone while, and Gandalf spun around to pin the Halfling with a slightly annoyed glance. He gave a harsh sigh and went forward to brace his hands on the solid rock, pushing against it. But the supposed doors remained fast.

"I used to know every spell in all the tongues of elves, Men… _and_ orcs." He grumbled to himself. Viper, who had taken a sort of habit of calling the old wizard out on many a thing, heard. He gave the ancient man a smirk. "What is that, _oyaji_? Maybe you should go back to your _wizard_ school." He chided in a mocking tone, before actually falling silent at Aragorn and Frodo's admonishing words. He frowned down at the ground, thinking on his veiled almost-insult to the old man. Boromir tilted his head at the sudden silence, but didn't say anything. He was still worried about Viper being hateful toward him for telling the others how the youth felt about making connections, and hadn't really spoken with the other yet. He wasn't even sure if Aragorn had told Viper what Boromir had said to the group—but he wasn't sure he wanted to risk anything.

_A wizard's school... Gods, I am an idiot. _Viper scowled under his hood, making sure none of the others would be able to guess at his facial expression this time around. _Why can't that past just leave me a lone?_

"What are you going to do, then?" Pippin questioned Gandalf, curious, and the wizard cast him an irritated glance.

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took!" The wizened man grumbled. "And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words." With that, the hobbit fell silent, and Gandalf turned back toward the wall, smacking his staff angrily against the rock.

oOoOo

Time passed quite quickly, against what one would think, and the rest of the Fellowship found themselves seated around the supposed entrance to Moria.

"_Ando Eldarinwa… a lasta quettanya, Fenda Casarinwa…_" Gandalf was muttering, and Viper nearly goraned when the hobbits turned toward him eagerly.

"'Gate of Elves…' It's a dwarf mine! _Anciano_..." He grumbled, before continuing. "'Listen to my word, Threshold of Dwarves…" He eyed the wizard, before huffing. "Mmm."

Aragorn was off to the side, with Sam. He unhitched Bill the pony's bridle, before giving the animal a pat on the flank. "The mines are no place for a pony, Samwise." The Ranger told the hobbit, "even one so brave as Bill."

Sam let out an almost choked sigh, watching the pony toss it's head "Buh-bye, Bill," he muttered sadly, taking a reluctant step back.

Aragorn slapped the animal's side gently. "Go on, Bill, go on. Don't worry Sam, he knows his way home." They watched Bill clip-clop away, until the hoof-beats were only a fair echo in the distance.

The two made their way back to join the others, where Merry and Pippin took turns skipping stones on the surface of the pool. The others weren't paying attention, save for Viper, who only watched them silently.

"Do not disturb the water." Aragorn warned the hobbits with a grave tone, and Merry and Pippin shrank back. The two shared a look, before setting the rest of their stones down with a grumble.

"Bah!" Gandalf cried, finally giving up. "It's useless," He shook his head, stomping his way over to the others. Viper scooted over and the wizard made himself comfortable on the slab of stone the youth had been lounging on. Aragorn still thought he looked like a cat, sometimes. The wizard tossed his staff onto the pebbles and pulled of his hat, a small scowl on his face.

Aragorn slowly stood, eying the water. Small ripples were beginning to make there way across the water. As Gandalf and Frodo talked to each other, the rest of the Fellowship noticed, and began to watch in silence. Viper tilted his head without a word.

"It's a riddle." Frodo eventually mused, as he stood up to gaze at the runes. Gandalf cast him a curious glance, before turning to read the words again.

Viper was beginning to become uneasy. He cast the rippling pool a short glance, before flipping off of the stone slab he was on and coming up besides Frodo. "'Speak 'friend,' and enter,'" he said, quickly. Quick enough to garner their attention. Something was wrong, they noticed, now. Something had Viper spooked. "The elvish word for friend is—"

"Ah!" Gandalf brightened, but Viper tossed the wizard a look.

The water was practically shivering, now. The rest of the group began to back away, hands tight on their weapons, toward the glowing silver door.

"is '_mellon_,'" Viper went on, almost forcefully, "so—"

Suddenly, just as Viper spoke, the doors slowly swung open with a deep rumbling sound. Viper was the first to enter Moria, his steps quick and completely without a sound. Gandalf followed the others, placing a small crystal onto the head of his staff, and Aragorn entered last, after ushering the hobbits in with Boromir, casting one last glance at the trembling surface of the pool.

The moonlight flooded into the shadowy chamber they soon found themselves in. "Soon, Master Elf," Gimli was heard saying roughly to Legolas, "you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin."

Viper frowned, lifting his head to sniff at the dank air around them, his eyes widened under his hood, and he silently slapped his gloved hands over his mouth and nose as if he'd caught a suffocating smell and didn't wish to breath it in. He almost doubled over slightly, eyes squeezed shut, practically gasping. Unfortunately, none of the others noticed this. Viper was too silent for his own good, and the chamber was too dark to see more than three feet ahead of you.

Gandalf brought his hand around the top of his staff, blowing upon the crystal. Slowly, as if the first ember of a fire, it began to glow. "And they call it a mine," the wizard grumbled, referring to the lack of torched around them. "A mine!"

"This is no mine," Boromir called, panic in his voice.

"What are the dwarves like, Mister Gimli?" Pippin asked Gimli, who grinned broadly. "Well, young Master Pippin, they're quite—"

Viper fell to his knees, and the group spun around, aside from the Son of Denethor, who stared of into the room in a shock. "Viper?!" Aragorn rushed forward. "What's—"

"It smells like death!" Viper choked.

"This is a _tomb_!" Boromir cried, and that certainly caught the other's attention. Gandalf's staff brightened even further, giving light enough for the rest to see what Boromir was staring at.

"No..." Gimli breathed in horror, eyes wide. "Oh, no! _No_!"

Broken and battered forms were strewn about the chamber, casting long shadows across the room. Gandalf sucked in a breath, moving his staff forward so the growing light revealed all of the scene, and Gimli fell forward, head moving from the left, to the right. "_No_!" The dwarf wailed in despair.

Legolas went forward, nimbly yanking arrow out from the body of a fallen dwarf. The elf examined it, then cast it away in disgust. "Goblins!" He spat out in horror.

Boromir quickly drew his sword and the elf prince fit an arrow into his bow. The hobbits gathered around Viper, who Aragorn was helping up of the ground—but the youth had both hands over his face, practically smothering himself. "Here," Aragorn finally said, ripping a cloth in half, one from the packs of the hobbits. "Move..." He reached both hands into Viper's hood and blindly tied the cloth around Viper's face. Viper breathed in deeply the scent of baked bread, and removed his hands from his face, batting Aragorn's hands away as he finished the knot himself. He stumbled back, coughing.

"What was that?" Aragorn questions him quietly, drawing his own sword. Viper whipped out his black daggers. Now that a cloth covered the bottom half of his face, there was no skin of Viper's showing at all—it made him look like some sort of thief or bandit. Pippin almost giggled, albeit nervously. A really awesome bandit, at that.

"Death." Viper gasped, making sure to keep his breaths shallow, as the cloth wouldn't filter all of the air. "I hate the smell of death." He shook his head, not saying anymore.

"Sure, it stinks, it does," Merry nodded hesitantly, "But, I mean, _I'm_ not choking to death."

Viper shot the hobbit a glance, and they had a harder time interpreting it now. "My senses are heightened, more so than yours, Halfling. Death reeks of rotting corpses and crumbling bones, and sorrow and last breaths and suffering, for me. Of molding flesh and final days filled with agony. I despise it, utterly."

Merry shrank back, bumping into Pippin as they both backed away, eyes wide. But no one else had the time to dwell on what the youth had said, as they were glancing around the chamber, looking for a sign—any sign, of danger.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan." Boromir repeated his words from the weeks before, sternly. "We should never have come here. "

The door to the chamber still lay open, and the four hobbits back away slowly, toward it. Behind them, through the opening, the pool stirs again, the ripples growing longer and harsher. The Son of Denethor turned toward them sharply as he reached out an arm to steady a swaying Viper, who looked almost irritated at his own predicament. "Now get out of here, get out!"

The company started for the door, as one. However, their flee was delayed as Frodo suddenly found himself swinging upside down in the air, his foot in the grasp of a slick tentacle that had emerged from the pool. Viper tensed, standing still. The other hobbits cried out in fear. "Frodo!"

Sam spun around, looking desperate, "Strider!" He called.

"H-Help!" Frodo screamed, flailing wildly. He tried to slip the snaking tentacle from around his foot, but the arm wouldn't budge. "Help!"

Sam brought out his sword and attempted to hack at the tentacle that was slowly dragging the young Baggins back into the pool. "Let off him!" He shouted, helplessly. "_Strider_!"

Merry's head shot up, eyes wide in terror. Pippin huddled next to him, far away from the monster. "Aragorn!" Merry hollered.

Legolas skittered over toward them, his bow strung with an arrow ready for shooting. He took aim and fired, eyes hard in concentration. The projectile pierced another tentacle that was wrapping around Frodo's face.

That is when Aragorn and Boromir race their way over, swinging their swords and attempting to bring the beast down. Viper stood on the sidelines, scowling at the monster. If one looked closely, they would probably see a faint blue glow surrounding the supposed youths gloved fists. "I've never been fond of sea-creatures..." He muttered, but he didn't do anything right then. And, no one was looking so—no one noticed that glow.

Finally, Aragorn managed to get in a good hit, his sword slicing cleanly through the tentacle that held Frodo captive. They all heard a loud screech, like a dying bird, but they were already tumbling back toward the looming doors that lead into Moria. "Into the mines!" Gandalf cried, ushering them in. "Come, into the mines!"

"Legolas!" Boromir called as he looked back, seeing the elf readying another arrow. He was aiming closer to the water, most likely seeing something the Man could not, but Boromir was more worried for the blond's safety. "Legolas, hurry!"

The prince let the arrow fly, and he watched as it was suddenly sprouting from what looked like one of the beast's eyes. Legolas paused minutely, before spinning around and dashing back toward the door as the monster let out a pain-filled roar.

Viper allowed the blond to file in ahead of him, until he was the last to go. He slipped in just as the door boomed shut.

No one saw the sudden blue flash that zoomed in the beast's direction. And with the stone doors closing with a loud, echoing thud that sounded close to thunder, no one heard the final, tortured cry of that monster.

But Viper did.

He smirked.

And, as he turned around, Viper decided to make the adventure a little more fun.

He aimed another blast at the closed doors, this time the glow absent. There was a thundering groan, before the floor began to shake beneath their feet. Most fell to the ground, but Viper managed to brace himself against Legolas, who held a hand against a wall. Once the trembling earth stopped, they all looked back to the entrance, horror coming across their faces as they realized they were now sealed into the mine-turned-tomb. The last rays of moonlight was swallowed into the blackness, and Viper had to just barely resist his grin.

After all, it wasn't fun if it was too easy, was it? Plus, this way, if they ever found out it had been him—well, that would just go to show them how wrong they were. That he wasn't their friend, after all.

Because Viper didn't make friends, anymore.

It was perfect.

Around him, short gasps and heavy panting reached his ears as the Fellowship gathered their wits and breath. Slowly, in the darkness, a light began to show. Viper's grin fell from his face instantly, and no one was the wiser. But, who knows? Maybe he'd even _tell_ them one day... he resisted another smile.

Gandalf re-lit his staff, and the crystal was soon brightly glowing. The wizard greeted them all with a grave look, his voice low. "We now have but one choice," he informed the group. They stared back at him with startled or frightened faces. Viper simply blended in with the surrounding darkness. "We must face the long dark of Moria." The man continued. "Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs, in the deep places of the world."

As soon as they caught their breath and readjusted their packs, the group silently went deeper and deeper down the passage that connected to the chamber that stunk of the dwarves' rotting corpses. "Quietly, now," Gandalf warned them.

"It's a four-day journey to the other side." Gimli told him, face taught and pale. Viper felt slightly guilty—after all, he'd been the one to technically seal the redhead within the tomb of his own family members, however distantly related. He shook the feeling off. He wasn't used to such an emotion, at this time. It had been centuries, really.

Gandalf nodded in agreement. "Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed." He hoped aloud.

None of the rest of them spoke for a long while, but the tense and almost suddenly hopeless feeling engulfed them all.

Well, except for Viper, but you can't get everyone.

oOoOo

_**-Insert cleverly worded Author's Note here-**_

_**;)**_

_**~Scylar X**_

_**PS- Also, please see my profile for any poll that I may have up. They're pretty important. Just saying.**_

_**PPS- No. This story is not slash, nor het, nor yuri, no yaoi, zip, zilch, nada. Overall, no pairings. I'm keeping it Gen, really. Well, except for Aragorn and Arwen, but that's practically a given. Then, I was thinking about hooking Boromir up with Eomer's sister/cousin, whoever she is. But, that can really only happen if I decide to actually allow him to live... See? This is why I need to guys to vote on my polls! XD Just thought I should put that out there, anyway. No pairings, except for the otherwise mentioned. Tankyoo~**_


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